You Give Yourself Away
by FinnFiona
Summary: "The intimacy of death has left its mark upon them — something has undeniably changed, something long suffocated has a chance to breathe." Damon/Elena amongst a Season 3 ensemble story. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS; my sincere apologies to my readers with thanks for their support of this story.
1. Keep Us Awake, Then Morning

**Author's Note: I know I'm a bit late to the party, but thought I might try my hand at getting us all through this last tortuous month and a half before the season three premiere with a possible version of post-season two events. I plan to focus mainly on Damon and Elena, but am going to attempt to pull in some other perspectives as well as we move things along.**

**I would also be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to thank Karen for her inestimable help in developing this story – I can't say how much I've enjoyed our conversations and appreciate your insights!**

**Luckily for you all (and especially for those loyal readers who have put up with long hiatuses from me in the past), I am going to be able to post updates pretty regularly on this one – probably every couple of days, so check back often. I hope you'll enjoy!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

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><p><strong>One: Keep Us Awake, Then Morning<strong>

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><p>Elena Gilbert is stranded on a deserted island, the ground she stands upon shifting as dunes of sand even if the planks of pine beneath her feet look as solid as ever. She can't look out at the deep and unknowable ocean that is Damon's impossibly blue eyes any longer—there are too many questions and memories there that she doesn't feel strong enough to face.<p>

So instead she turns back to the jungle, dark and full of danger, staring through the doorway Katherine chose as her exit. Elena belatedly realizes she should have made more of an effort to stop her, to get more information.

In the moment Elena had turned away, Damon seems to have had the same thought. Yet he's barely made it five steps from his bed before the effort of trying to speed after his erstwhile love and tormentor sends him sprawling to the floor.

"Hey," Elena rushes to his side in what has become a familiar position this evening. "Hey…" she says again, more soothing, propping him against her side.

"We have to go after her," Damon says weakly as he leans into Elena's shoulder.

"You're not strong enough," Elena murmurs, almost apologetic. Her mind is teaming with unknowns and confusion amongst still palpable emotions of grief and guilt and maybe something else entirely… but it won't do any of them good to go running off recklessly now.

"I _have_ to be, I…" he groans again, and her heart constricts with anxiety.

"Klaus won't kill him," Elena tries to keep her voice steady, willing her words to be true. "He said he had plans for him, Stefan was sure…"

"Stefan is an idiot," Damon mutters, kneeling next to her, trying to recover his bearings. "Giving himself over… I'm not worth that..."

"That's not true," she whispers over his head. She wishes he had more people in his life to echo her words—she wishes _she'd_ spoken them more often, been able to _see_ the truth of them as clearly as she does now. Elena thinks of Jeremy, of everyone she loves—she knows better than anyone what it means to value their lives above your own. It carries a steep price, but it's a price you have to pay to give them the chance to live. She knows Damon understands that, too—has seen him act on the same impulses Stefan is acting on now.

Sometimes… sometimes you give up everything.

"You're his brother…" she adds quietly, carrying the deeper explanation in the hand she runs soothingly along the line of his shoulder blades.

Damon pulls himself up far enough to grasp her arm gently, looking her in the eye. "And he's _my_ brother," his voice is heavy, and she can see the turbulence plainly in his still feverish gaze. "I _will_ get him out of this… I'll bring him back to you, I promise."

Elena nods, swallowing hard. It's just one more thing she can't let herself think about right now, even though it's buzzing at the edge of her mind, begging for quarter. But it seems important to Damon to say. "Come on," she says in lieu of giving voice to her more tumultuous thoughts, struggling to pull him to his feet, grateful when he doesn't resist her motions back towards the edge his bed. If it really was a cure in that little glass bottle… "How are you feeling?"

Damon shoots her a look that does more to assuage her fears than any verbal assurances would—it has a thousand times more energy and less resignation than he'd shown only minutes before. "Peachy," he mutters dryly, rolling back his sleeve gingerly.

Elena grimaces at the sight of the festering werewolf bite, but it seems to be fading around the edges.

Damon winces, a fit of guttural coughing overtaking him. Elena instinctively pulls him further onto the bed, picking up the abandoned washcloth in a futile attempt at offering comfort. When Katherine had waltzed into the room and dropped her customary grenades, Elena hadn't thought she'd find herself back _here_ so soon. But she still refuses to leave him, not _now_, and holding him up and smoothing back his fever-soaked hair gives her something to focus on. And she desperately needs something to focus on—or she might go running out that door herself.

"I know I'm out of practice, but I thought medicine was supposed to make you feel _better_," he intones with a ghost of that familiar smirk.

Elena feels the weight on her chest lighten slightly, smiling as she settles her chin against the crown of his head once more. "You have to give your body time to heal…"

"I'm a vampire—lack of healing time is one of the perks."

"Surviving a werewolf bite isn't."

Damon seems to deflate somewhat at that thought, reaching a hand up to grasp her own. "Thank you for staying with me…"

Elena swallows hard. "Of course," she whispers, squeezing his fingers.

They sit for a while in a silence charged with words unsaid. The intimacy of death has left its mark upon them—something has undeniably changed, something long suffocated has a chance to breathe.

But that is complicated and messy and more than she can handle right now. And besides that, it doesn't even feel like the _point_.

She hasn't lost him, though—she's lost so much else, and is losing more by the minute, but she hasn't lost him. Not yet.

Whatever new problems or supposed clarity or remembered propriety will come in the morning, there is some comfort in knowing that for tonight, at least, they are in this together.

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><p>Alaric opens his eyes groggily, struggling for a moment to process the unfamiliar surroundings until he remembers he is sleeping on the Gilberts' living room couch. He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling a headache that is part hangover, part stress settle behind his brow.<p>

He props himself on his elbows, wondering what woke him until the faint buzz from his phone answers his question. He blinks at the unread text message, disbelieving, before he read it again.

_Damon okay. Will explain at Boarding House in the morning._

Alaric had missed Elena's last message earlier in the night, coming as it had in the moments immediately following Jeremy's—what? _third_ near-death experience? Running from one crisis to another all evening had given Alaric little time to do more than act and react. Still, her enigmatic words—_Found him_—had sent a cold bucket of ice water through his veins.

He'd tried calling Stefan with no response, and though part of him felt he should go over there or at least call Elena, he was afraid of what answer he might receive. He'd settled for _Let me know if you need anything_ and her promise of _I will_ before returning his attention to someone he could actually help.

With one disaster averted, at least he'll only have to tell her how her brother came back to life instead of how he died.

He hadn't been expecting her to return the favor.

Alaric swings his legs over of the side of the couch stiffly, certain he isn't getting any more sleep tonight. He frowns at the light emanating from the kitchen—apparently he isn't done with the surprises yet.

"Jeremy…" Alaric breathes a sigh of relief at not finding anything more sinister in the kitchen than a teenager with an apparent midnight craving. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," the kid mumbles distractedly, "sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," Alaric leans against the counter as Jeremy cracks eggs into a bowl. "Elena sent a message—I guess Damon's alright."

"Yea, she texted me too," Jeremy says, glowering at the mixing bowl. "Do you know how to make an omelet?"

"What?" Alaric raises an eyebrow, caught off-guard.

"I'm craving an omelet," Jeremy says matter-of-factly. "Only I just remembered I don't know how to make one…" he shakes his head slightly, chuckling at himself as if just realizing how ridiculous this sounded.

"Well you're in luck," Alaric smiles sadly, pulling cheese and mushrooms from the fridge and directing Jeremy to chop a tomato and onion. Jenna had loved a good omelet—so much so that Alaric had endured all manner of ribbing from Damon just to get the vampire to teach him the proper technique.

Alaric wonders how long it will be before someone notices that Jenna isn't around, and what Jeremy and Elena would do then. He's never heard them talk about any other relatives—besides John, that is. He's seen students of his shuffled into foster care in such situations…

But then, Alaric feels almost silly thinking about something as mundane as child services and social workers when ancient evils are after them and he has somehow managed to end up with Dracula for a best friend. Best to just pay attention to the eggs and deal with the rest in the morning.

"This s'really good," Jeremy points his fork at his half-demolished plate fifteen minutes later, speaking around a mouthful of egg.

"You doubted me?"

Jeremy grins but his full attention seems elsewhere.

"Are you okay?" Alaric asks, more seriously.

"Hmm?" Jeremy turns his gaze back on Alaric. "Oh, uh yea, 'm fine."

Alaric leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "Uh huh," his brow furrows, but he doesn't press the issue.

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><p>Caroline rocks back on her heels in the corner of her closet. The small cooler where she keeps her stash of blood bags is annoyingly empty. Her gums itch as she heaves a frustrated sigh and is halfway to the door with every intention of raiding Damon's supply when she remembers what she'd find there.<p>

She worries her lip between her teeth, returning instead to the kitchen and reaching for the handle of whiskey on the top shelf. She and her mom had been talking for hours since fleeing the Grill, and if Caroline can't have the drink she wants, she sure as hell is going to need something strong.

Caroline wants so _badly_ to believe that everything is going to be okay with her mom now, but there's a little piece of her, somewhere deep down, screaming that she should know better.

Maybe she'd been spending too much time with Damon.

Damon…

Caroline takes a healthy swig of the potent alcohol, not liking how much the elder Salvatore brother is weighing on her thoughts. Isn't she supposed to hate his undead guts? Isn't she _entitled_? But there have been times… With her Mom, with the werewolves… And if he hadn't shown up in the tomb, hadn't stepped in front of Tyler…

She shudders, pouring another measure of whiskey into her glass.

"Drinking alone?"

Caroline is out of her seat and has the owner of the unexpected voice pinned against the wall faster than she can process the familiar tones.

"Hey!" Tyler protests, wide-eyed, under her iron grip. "Care, it's just me!"

Caroline loosens her hold, blushing. "Sorry," she mumbles, sinking back to her seat, "I guess I'm a little jumpy."

"I didn't know it was possible to sneak up on a vampire," he pulls a glass from the cupboard, joining her at the table without further invitation.

"I'm not a very good vampire," a sad half-smile lifts the corner of her mouth as she pours four fingers of the amber liquid into his glass.

"Long night?" he raises an eyebrow at her generous offering.

"You don't know the half of it," she puts her chin in her hands. "Everything is a mess, Tyler," she takes another healthy swig, "and Klaus is still out there and probably after us, my mom knows about me and I don't know if I can trust her even though I _really_ want to, and Damon's dying and Jeremy actually _died_ and—"

"Whoa, _whoa_," Tyler holds out a hand, paling, "Jeremy's dead?"

"What?" Caroline seems to focus on Tyler for the first time. "Well, he _was_, but Bonnie brought him back to life."

"Oh," Tyler frowns, head tilting as he downs half of his own glass.

"Yea," Caroline mimics his action. "So you can see why the drowning of sorrows." She looks back at him. "But you didn't know most of that—so what are you doing here?"

"I need a reason, now?" he tries to make her smile.

"At three o'clock in the morning," she says pointedly, though not unkindly. "Usually."

Tyler takes another sip from his rapidly emptying glass, as if forestalling the inevitable. Caroline steels herself for whatever is coming next.

She is strong. She _is_. She can handle whatever the fates want to throw at her.

She can.

She just has to keep reminding herself of that.

"My mom called an emergency meeting of the Council," he admits reluctantly.

"She did? My mom didn't say anything…"

"That's because she wasn't invited."

Caroline sits up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't catch everything they were saying," Tyler shrugs. "But my mom thinks the Sherriff—your mom, I mean—knows more about the vampire problem than she's letting on. That she isn't doing everything in her power to stop it."

"That's ridiculous," Caroline shakes her head, fighting to keep the vampire-heightened emotions at bay.

"Well," Tyler points out, "she's not exactly wrong."

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Caroline purses her lips.

"I'm on _your_ side," Tyler says quickly. "I'm just saying she's not wrong to be suspicious—she just doesn't understand."

"You can't tell her, Tyler," Caroline looks at him askance.

"I won't," Tyler sighs. "But I don't think this is just going to blow over…"

"God, when are we ever gonna catch a break?" Caroline slumps forward, jerking back upright when her phone beeps as if in answer. She reads the text message quickly, an ironic giggle bubbling out of her.

"What is it?" Tyler leans forward, perplexed.

"It's Elena," Caroline can't stop the grin from spreading over her face, surprised at just _how_ relieved she feels—and not wanting to analyze that to death just yet, as she knows she will later. "She says Damon's going to be okay—they'll explain it all tomorrow." She looks up at him, "I guess we'll all be doing some explaining…"

There's a distinct look of relief on Tyler's face. "So I didn't… didn't kill him?"

Caroline's stomach clenches as she mentally kicks herself for not considering how this turn of events might be affecting him—in the craziness of the evening she'd done little more than text him to be on the lookout for Damon, with just the bare minimum of details—you bit him, it's fatal, he's going off his rocker, more homicidal than usual. She'd never stopped to think…

"No," she answers softly, covering his hand with hers. "Not tonight, anyway."

Tyler nods solemnly. "There was one other thing…"

"Yea?" Caroline feels the anxiety returning in force.

"I think the Council knows about werewolves."

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><p>"Why are we here?" Stefan asks flatly, staring across the sleepy, sprawling, undeveloped town towards the dim glow of the porch light—the only sign of habitation they've seen for miles. Its red bulb casts an eerie glow over the front steps as they approach.<p>

"I like this place," Klaus says from beside him, smiling that devilish smile. "Something about it reminds me of my home. Don't you like to be reminded of home, Stefan?"

"I don't have a home anymore," Stefan's mouth twists, hiding a grimace. He is firmly aware that every step forward he takes makes those words even more true.

"Such a pity," Klaus tutts. "I remain absolutely _enchanted_ by Mystic Falls."

Stefan doesn't like what that might portend, but he knows there is nothing more he can do for Mystic Falls now. Or for the people that live there…

He can't think their names, anymore than he can speak of them.

"I wouldn't have thought home was so important to you," he says instead, still facing away from the older vampire, eyes fixated on the soft red light.

"On the contrary," Klaus raises an eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back. "Home is where it all began…"

They've reached the front door at last, but Stefan doesn't raise a hand to knock.

"Perhaps you're right not to think of it," Klaus smirks knowingly. "Surely your brother will be… grateful."

Stefan doesn't deign to answer.

"I had brothers once, too, you know," Klaus goes on. "Well, of course you know—you've met one of them. But you saw the coffins—there were others. Aron, Alexandru, and Milos—thick as thieves, they were. Yet they all disappointed me, though, just like Elijah, just like my parents, my sisters, everyone…" he pauses, seeming to collect his thoughts, though Stefan knows there is never anything less than calculated in his words. "You're not going to disappoint me, are you Stefan?"

"Are we going to go in?" Stefan gestures at the door, ignoring the question.

Klaus smiles again. "Impatient, are we?" he chuckles darkly. "Smell the fresh… supplies?" With a wink, he lifts the brass doorknocker.

A scantily clad young woman, green eyes dark with liner, gaze hooded, opens the door wide. "Evenin' gentlemen," she smiles alluringly, flipping her long chestnut hair behind her shoulder. "Do come in…"

"Don't mind if we do," Klaus steps over the threshold, walking toward the small huddle of women clustered in the smoky, silk-draped room. "I have some business with the owner," he throws over his shoulder. "Stefan… if you like her, she's all yours."

Stefan stands rooted to the spot, watching how the red light casts burgundy-tinted shadows across her suntanned skin and makes her lips look impossibly crimson.

"A quiet one, huh?" the girl whispers, taking a step toward him.

Stefan pulls her forward forcibly and closes the door, pressing her back against the wood.

"Or just a little rough 'round the edges?" she guesses, still game. "S'that it?"

"Something like that," Stefan breathes into her neck, savoring the feeling of her pulse against his lips.

It's over in moments, and soon Klaus is standing once more on the other side of the door. He says nothing, but inclines his head in bemused approval.

Though Stefan knows he has the legitimate fear of retribution and reprisal should he break his end of the bargain, he is surprisingly close to admitting that that back-pocket excuse is only a part of the reason Klaus hasn't had to put him under compulsion. And it is a quickly dwindling fraction, at that.

Stefan supposes that ought to bother him more, but it's easier not to care. And that reemerging side of him is starting to remember it's also a lot more fun.

He sucks a stray drop of blood from his thumb, and follows Klaus back down the front steps, out of the circle of red light and back into the familiar shades of night.

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><p>Damon wakes with a start. The image of his little brother awash with a reddish glow, a haunting smile and trickle of blood playing on his lips, seared into his mind.<p>

He isn't usually one to have vivid dreams—much less nightmares—though the last day or two has shot that statement all to hell, and heaped on a few hallucinations besides.

Still, it had felt so _real_.

Elena shifts in her sleep, and Damon reflexively tightens his arms around her. She'd still been wide-awake, anxiously watching her phone for news or a response from Stefan, when Damon had finally succumbed to his own exhaustion. But by now she's slipped down into the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder much as it had been, before…

Strange how that doesn't set his adrenaline pumping as it might have only a few days past. Tonight it just feels… like they fit. For once it's enough—no need to press and push, just _be_, for the last few hours before reality comes crashing down with a vengeance. In truth, Damon is surprised his brain isn't working in overdrive to analyze and dwell upon everything that had happened in the past few hours, but he feels unusually calm. Worried, uncertain, responsible… but _calm_.

Of course, that probably won't last long. But the morning, for now, seems far enough away.

He drifts back to sleep, the lurid visage of Stefan pushed from his thoughts by the security of Elena's presence.

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><p><strong>AN: Well there we have it – much more to come, so I hope this has whet your appetite for more! Please let me know what you've thought with a review; they not only make my day and are a great help in telling this story, but are a great encouragement and motivation to keep up a swift writing pace...!**


	2. All the Faults You Left Behind

**Author's Note: Here we are again – and a quick turnaround, as promised. Thanks to everyone for their support so far, I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

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><p><strong>Two: All the Faults You Left Behind<strong>

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><p>The crystal swings erratically over the map, tracing an arc that tells them nothing. Tension is mounting in the room the longer they watch the talisman form a frantic pendulum from Bonnie's fingertips, occasionally leaving a thin red line in its wake before clunking resolutely back down on their little town of Mystic Falls.<p>

Caroline is tired of watching the damn thing.

Yet Caroline doesn't have to look around to see that everyone else is still following the crystal's incomprehensible path as if this time they'll get a different result. As if _this_ time they'll figure out where Stefan is. Tyler standing beside her uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot. Jeremy seated at Bonnie's elbow—alternately watching her strained features and her futile work. Alaric leaning behind the couch, arms crossed with a deep frown line between his brows. Damon pacing in front of the mantle in fits and starts. And Elena... Elena seated in the middle of the other couch, looking for all the world like it could swallow her whole and she wouldn't utter a peep.

Watching her friends, it seems, isn't any easier than watching that crystal. But at least it's easier than thinking about why they're all there.

When Caroline had picked Bonnie up that morning on their way to the Boarding House, she was surprised to see the makings of a tracking spell in her friend's hands. But Bonnie hadn't had any better idea than she did as to why Damon had requested those particular tools. Caroline hadn't even entertained the thought that it might be for Stefan.

"I'm sorry, Damon," Bonnie drops her hand to the table, beads of sweat visible along her hairline. "It's not working."

"Well try _again_," Damon snaps impatiently, picking up the discarded knife on the table, ready to provide more of his blood for the spell. He hesitates slightly with the blade along his palm—though Caroline thinks she is the only one to notice, just as she's sure no one else could have registered the nanosecond of extra time it had taken for his hand to heal from the first few cuts.

"She's tried five times already," Alaric interjects gently.

"I thought you said this would work," Damon's gaze hasn't left Bonnie, though he drops the knife to his side.

"I said it _could_ work," Bonnie corrects. "But the spell was made to link a _human_ to their kin through their shared blood—I don't know if it works for vampires. We don't even know if he's alive…" she adds quietly.

"_He's alive_," Damon glares at her. Caroline is, for once, glad to see the tenacity flicker in his eyes—they'd seemed oddly muted when Caroline had first arrived, a match for his still gray-tinged complexion and cautious gait where there was usually smooth porcelain and swagger.

Of course, he'd very nearly died—just _how_ nearly is becoming more clear the further into the morning's debrief they go.

"It kept landing here, in Mystic Falls," Jeremy points out. "Do you think they're still around?"

Bonnie shrugs, "It's possible, but it didn't feel like that's what the crystal was telling me."

"Damon's blood is finding something here," Jeremy runs a finger over the map, staring at the little dot that is their town. "There's _something_ here..." he mutters again, almost to himself.

"Yea," Damon bites out, voice dripping with sarcasm, "_me_."

Jeremy ignores him, though, just as he ignores the curious look Bonnie is sending his way.

"There has to be some way to locate him," Damon turns his attention back to Bonnie.

"Klaus had witches working for him, _god knows why they help that monster_," Bonnie's mouth forms a thin, angry line. "If he had them cast the right spell, it could be cloaking him and Stefan. We might not be _able_ to find him, not with magic anyway..."

Damon's jaw clicks dangerously in the moment's silence that follows. Caroline can see the pent-up energy coursing through him—recognizes the struggle for dominance over emotion she herself fights every day. He spins around, taking his frustration out on the first object in his path. Still weakened or not, the antique vase shatters against the far wall, practically pulverized under the force of his throw.

"Dammit," Damon mutters, his back to the room. Caroline suspects his hands would be shaking if they weren't clamped down on the edge of the mantelpiece.

"We'll figure something out, Damon," Caroline offers when no one else speaks up—empty words, she knows, but they're as much for Elena as for him. Besides a stunned exclamation when Alaric related the part of the story where her brother had (temporarily) died, Elena had said less and less as the day wore on. It was Damon that had filled the group in on their portion of the evening's saga, though Caroline feels the gaps in the story even if she can't put her finger on them. She isn't sure they are entirely due to his formerly delirious state, either.

But Elena just sits quietly, too-wide eyes a million miles away. Caroline knows that look—but even with all they've been through in the past year, she hasn't _seen _that look since the car accident that made Elena an orphan. As the initial news had sunk in, Elena had retreated into herself—and it had been a while before they'd been able to draw her out again.

Really, after everything that's happened, it's a wonder Elena has lasted this long before putting those walls back up.

Still, Caroline isn't willing to admit defeat. "We'll figure something out," she repeats firmly, feeling the all-business, bossy organizer of fund drives and school carnivals take charge. "Now, what's the first thing we need to do?"

Caroline looks around expectantly, ready to tap her foot in impatience if someone doesn't snap out of it soon—and then everyone starts speaking at once.

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><p>Damon pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing his ears were as slow to recover as the rest of him. And yet the cacophony of arguments and counter-arguments coming from the next room is hardly diminished by the wall he's put between himself and his little band of Merry Men. And women. And witches and vampires and werewolves.<p>

Correction—the werewolf has already beaten him into the library and is currently rooting around in his best liquor.

"Thirsty?" Damon asks dryly.

Tyler jumps at the sound of Damon's voice, springing away from the cabinet.

"Sorry," Damon dead-pans, "did I startle you?"

"Well," Tyler's surprise seems momentarily forgotten as he frowns, "actually, yea… which is kinda weird…"

"I'm very stealthy," Damon simpers, quickly losing patience with this exchange.

"I don't doubt it," Tyler has the nerve to crack a distracted smile, even as he inhales deeply, nostrils flaring.

"Hold on," Damon's eyes narrow. "Did you just _sniff_ for me?"

"Uh…" Tyler's face reddens. "Yea, I guess so—Jules, she uh, she taught me to do it. You guys have a very particular… scent."

"Doggie bootcamp sounds thrilling," Damon has reached the drinks cabinet by now, and pours himself an ample helping.

"Hey man, it's a survival skill, okay?" Tyler bristles. "Not every vampire is gonna be my friend—Jules could mark one a hundred yards off."

"Maybe you just need more practice," Damon snarks. He can't believe he is still entertaining this conversation.

"No," Tyler looks stubborn. "I _know_ Caroline is still in there, on the far side of the room, even," he points to the parlor. "But you're right here and the vampire smell is mixed with… well, something like the pack."

"The _pack_?" Damon raises an eyebrow, unconsciously running a hand over the now nearly invisible bite on his forearm. "I hope you didn't just imply I smell like a mangy mob of werewolves."

"I don't know man, I'm just sayin'… something's different."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," Damon groans, taking a long swallow of scotch. He pours himself another, "I'm going to have to start putting on extra cologne."

Tyler looks offended, but his more recently Zen attitude appears to keep his fists in check. "Maybe I'm wrong," he shrugs. "It doesn't exactly make sense, does it?"

It doesn't make sense, except that he just survived an unsurvivable werewolf bite, after drinking a mysterious cure provided and delivered by two of the most devious vampires in the history of time. Damon stares for a moment before he chuckles darkly, filling a second glass. "Go ahead," he prods when the werewolf doesn't reach for it. "It's what you came in for, isn't it?"

Tyler takes the tumbler, having the grace to look chastened. "Sorry about that, it was getting a little… _intense_ in there, and Caroline said—"

"Why does that girl think she lives here?" Damon interjects, rolling his eyes. "Just because I can't _technically_ own the place…"

"She means well," Tyler frowns.

Damon takes another swig of alcohol to cover his annoyance—this kid really needs to lighten up. Still, Damon knows he isn't wrong. Damon won't soon forget how Caroline had stepped up this morning, tried to get them all moving forward when he himself had started to let everything—the frustration, the doubt, the _guilt_—get the better of him.

He _really_ couldn't afford to do that.

Especially not when Elena had looked like she did—slowly shrinking into herself…

"She, uh, she told me how you—how you got…" Tyler tries, embarrassed, but growing serious. "I should've apologized before… if I… if I'd been in my right mind, I never would have bitten you—it's just… it's instinct, you know?"

"I think I know a thing or two about it, yea," he murmurs, refilling Tyler's glass. Thankfully, though, Damon is spared any further thoughts down that road or the path that leads to worrying about Elena—or the need to actually _admit_ any respect for vampire Barbie—by a beep from Tyler's cell phone.

"My mom," he explains, looking at the message. "I think she's going to start freaking out even more now that she knows werewolves are in the picture."

"Oh, the irony…"

Tyler glances back towards the parlor, where the rest of the group is still rehashing everything they'd already gone over at _least_ twice—all of which still boils down to death, doom, and destruction in Damon's book. "You'll tell Caroline I had to go?"

Damon nods.

"And you'll see what you can find out from the Council?"

"I'm still their fearless leader, last I checked," Damon resists the urge to drink directly from the bottle. "You're _sure_ you don't know how they found out?"

"I could barely hear as it was," Tyler says apologetically. "But they _were_ talking about growing wolfsbane and joking about clips of silver bullets to go along with the wooden ones."

"Well at least you don't have to worry about those doing much harm… Which is hardly fair, I might add," Damon's mouth forms a moue of distaste.

Tyler shakes his head in amusement as he heads out the back hall, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts.

And hadn't he thought that was what he wanted?

* * *

><p>Damon takes the stairs slowly, not feeling up to super-speed just yet, and not relishing the idea of falling flat on his face. Again.<p>

He hadn't expected to find Elena standing in the hall, leaning against the doorframe as she gazes into Stefan's room.

"I thought you were still downstairs," he says the first thing that comes into his mind.

She turns, startled, dropping the bundle of linens in her arms in surprise. She bends to scoop them up again, not quite looking at him. "Everyone," she clears her throat, trying again, "everyone's getting ready to go."

"But you're doing laundry?" he looks more closely at her load, trying to ignore how her knuckles are going white where she clutches the fabric to her chest. "Are those my sheets?"

She looks down. "Oh, yea…" she seems uncertain. "When I was little and I had the flu or something, my mom used to give me a fresh set of sheets after my fever broke. It always used to make me feel better…" she trails off, seeming to realize she's babbling.

In truth, Damon is glad to hear her voice—she'd been so silent all morning. When he'd finally woken—feeling decidedly the worse for wear—the place she'd slept beside him had already grown cold. He could hear her downstairs in the kitchen, obviously trying to keep herself busy, focused on something other than her world continually crashing down around her. But he'd taken his time in the shower before joining her at the counter, accepting the strained smile and cup of coffee she offered him wordlessly.

Her adrenaline had kept her going the night before, even if he'd been lucid enough to see the cracks starting to form, but now… now, as their new reality starts to settle in, as each passing minute brings more bad news, _now_ she's starting to close down in a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation—shutter all the windows and bar all the doors.

Damon knows that instinct all too well…

When Jenna and John died, Stefan had said she was in shock—but _that_ Elena was still fighting, trying to hold herself up. This Elena is hardly Elena at all, and he has no idea how to help her.

"You don't have to do that," he says at last. They are still standing ten paces apart. "You should go home."

It's starting to physically hurt, that look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't…" she looks down again. "I can go, if you want."

Damon takes a deep breath, closing the distance between them. "That's not what I…" he tries to assure her. Yet now that she's is within reach, he feels the same hesitation he felt that morning—he'd been so close to just covering her hand with his own over the kitchen island, but in the light of day it was too easy to talk himself out of it. He had no idea what she'd want him to do, afraid she'd pull away as she always had whenever they'd made progress before. Afraid it was just him that felt it was different, this time.

_That's great, Damon, that's just what I needed—thanks for getting me through the darkness, and all, but I have better people in my life and I don't need you anymore. So let's just pretend like nothing changed and go back to our respective corners, okay?_

For once, though, he doesn't want to push her. Thinks she's probably better off if he doesn't. After everything that has transpired and everything Stefan has sacrificed just so that Damon could be sitting there at _all_… Damon isn't sure what he should do. What he _could_ do. What had seemed so simple—for a few hours, at least—is now clouded with reservations. Heart and soul arrested in reason's iron grip.

"I…" he closes his eyes briefly, silently hating himself. "I was just going to grab a jacket before Ric and I go check out his apartment," he mutters at last, walking away towards his own room.

"I don't want to go home to an empty house, Damon," she whispers at the last moment, arresting him in his tracks. "Jeremy will be at Bonnie's doing research, and I…"

Damon turns, meeting her gaze. Maybe the first step was getting her to keep one of those doors cracked open—even if it was the smallest one. He'll try to figure the rest out later. "It's okay," he speaks quietly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

* * *

><p>Caroline hears his footsteps as she zips the flap on her little cooler, sealing the bloodbags inside. She braces herself for a lecture as she closes the lid on his own, larger stock.<p>

Instead, she gets thrown completely for a loop.

"Good, you're still here."

"I was just going to start searching the town, in case Klaus and Elijah and… and Stefan are still here after all," she defaults to explanatory mode.

"You don't really think they are, do you?" Damon asks, almost challenging.

"No," she admits.

"Me either," Damon agrees quietly. Caroline can tell that he wishes he had a different opinion. "But I'll help you look when I'm done at Ric's—if you'll do something for me, first."

Caroline frowns warily—she should've known; he's only nice when he wants something. "What is it?"

Damon seems to read her expression with a tinge of sadness, but it's gone in a flash. "Will you stay here until I get back?"

"Oh," Caroline's mouth forms a perfect, dumbfounded circle. "Sure, but… why?"

"Elena," Damon blows out a breath, as if diving into deep water. "She doesn't want to go home and… I don't think she should be alone. And besides, I'd feel better if someone with a little firepower was with her."

Caroline nods approvingly. "I'm on it."

"Good," Damon turns to go. "Alaric's waiting out front?"

"Yup," Caroline picks up her blood supply. "Everyone has their marching orders."

Damon fixes her with a look she can't quite decipher, but it looks suspiciously like approval. Caroline is loath to explain why that should fill her chest with a curious warmth. There was a time when she was desperate for this guy to like her—but she _isn't_ that girl anymore. She guesses she's allowed to be glad he's not _dead_, appreciative of _some_ of his recent actions, maybe she even understands him better now that she's a vampire. But he's not exactly Mystic Falls' moral compass nor a particularly good guy, so there's absolutely no reason she should value his praise.

Right..?

"Oh," he seems to remember something. "Your little mutt had to run home to mommy, by the way."

"Don't call him that," she answers automatically, but she can tell there isn't any real venom in his words. Maybe she's getting better at distinguishing his bluster from his bite… or maybe she's just never wanted to see the difference before—easier to think he's always a bastard.

"I think once someone tries to kill you, you can call them whatever you want," he raises an eyebrow.

"So I can call you a—"

"_Careful_, Caroline, I may be a bit under the weather, but I still have a hundred plus years on you," his glare can't even fool her now.

"Damon," she ventures cautiously, while she still has his attention. "I'm glad you're okay."

He smirks at her indulgently as he so often does, but she detects a hint of genuine surprise there.

"You _are_ okay, aren't you?" she adds before she can think better of it.

"You weren't worried about me, were you Blondie?" his smirk is firmly affixed now.

"Damon…" she bites her lip, not willing to let him push her question away this time.

"I'm fine, Caroline," he says seriously, turning from her as he starts up the steps. "I won't be long."

Caroline stalls at the top of the landing as he saunters off to the front door, not entirely convinced.

"Oh, and Blondie?" he calls out as he leaves, "start raiding your own blood banks, would you?"

* * *

><p>"Jeremy, did you find the reference? Jeremy?"<p>

Jeremy looks up, "Huh?"

Bonnie tears her eyes away from the battered grimoire in her lap, dismay coloring her features. "You're still looking at that map?" she sighs.

"Sorry," Jeremy offers lamely, chagrined. "I just _know_ something's here…"

"Well until you figure out what it is, you think you could find the section in the Gilbert journals I was asking about?" she asks with forced politeness.

"Sure…" Jeremy bites his tongue, deciding not to pick the fight.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie deflates, seeing his hurt look anyway. "There _has_ to be something in one of these books… I just don't want to let everyone down."

"Hey…" Jeremy offers as he pulls the 1867 and 1868 journals from the shelf, "everyone knows you're trying your best."

"Yea," she snorts disbelievingly, "try telling Damon that."

"He's just frustrated," Jeremy rubs a hand across her shoulders. "We all are... maybe we should take a break."

"You can if you want," Bonnie shakes her head. "I'm going to keep looking…"

So Jeremy settles back at her coffee table, opening the thin leather tome determinedly. But he can't focus, and instead finds his attention continually drawn to the map spread out in front of him.

"You're not wrong you know," a voice speaks from above.

Jeremy inhales a sharp breath as he looks up into Anna's face. After she'd appeared to him the night before—and disappeared soon after with nary an explanation—he'd half-convinced himself that she and Vicki were a dream.

He isn't ready to admit that a part of him—a significant part—was hoping they weren't.

"What?" he manages to choke out.

"Did you say something?" Bonnie looks up quizzically.

"Huh?" Jeremy can't pull his eyes away from Anna's enigmatic smile.

"You weren't wrong about the map," Anna clarifies.

"You said something?" Bonnie raises her eyebrows.

"Oh, um…"

"_Shhh…_" Vicki is whispering in his ear now, her breath tickling the hair at his temple. "You wouldn't want to tell her you're seeing visions of your ex-girlfriends, would you?" she smiles playfully as Jeremy turns to stare at her.

"Probably wouldn't go over well," Anna adds. "If she even believed you…"

"Nothing," he forces a smile at Bonnie. "It was nothing."

"Okay…"

"She _is_ pretty," Vicki pouts, watching Bonnie return to her books. "What a pity…"

"I think you need a better map, Jeremy," Anna smiles again—and in a blink, they're gone.

"Wait!" he exclaims, before he can stop himself.

"_What?_" Bonnie sounds exasperated now.

Jeremy flushes. "I, uh, I… need a better map," he declares.

"Jeremy…"

"A _bigger_ map," he goes on, undeterred. "A bigger map of Mystic Falls."

"I'm not going to get you to check that journal, am I?" she asks. "Fine, I have a city map in my car…" Bonnie offers tiredly, tossing him the keys and turning back to her grimoire.

Jeremy practically runs outside and reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out the folded sheet of paper and hurriedly laying it out on the hood. There is something magnetic about it, something that feels like the edge of discovery.

"Trust your instincts, Jer," Vicki's voice floats over him.

"There," he states to no one in particular, skewering a point on the edge of the grid with his finger. "Whatever it is, it's there."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks again for reading – if you like what you see, spread the word and please do leave a review! **


	3. Crash Us Into Nowhere

**Author's Note: Hello, hello! No wasting of words up here – though I will tell you while there isn't much direct Damon-Elena in this chapter, there's already a nice little scene written for the next chapter and much more where that came from. So I hope you'll enjoy the variety of little moments here and come back soon for chapter four… :)**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong>Three: Crash Us Into Nowhere<strong>

* * *

><p>"Why?" the young boy is staring at Klaus with unfocused eyes.<p>

"Inquisitive, aren't we?" Klaus smiles indulgently. For a moment, Stefan wonders if the boy will see his next birthday.

"It's impolite to question your elders," Klaus admonishes lightly. "I just need you to tell your father that I'd like to meet—I have a proposition that might interest him and his... friends."

The boy's mouth is starting to droop.

"Run along, now," Klaus adds with false cheer, severing the connection.

"Does he know what he is?" Stefan asks as the child runs down the sun-caked lane.

Klaus shrugs. "I doubt it," he cranks the key in the ignition. "His parents are radical, but I don't expect they start the initiation process at seven."

Stefan nods, turning to watch the scenery fly by.

"Oh," Klaus pouts, "don't clam up now. You've been a dreadful bore almost all the way down here. Don't you want to know my plans?"

Stefan's fists clench. "Not particularly," he manages an even tone. It's getting easier and easier.

"Speculate on when that charming little fellow will manage to kill someone, and join mummy and daddy in howling at the moon, then?" Klaus grins, giving Stefan the distinct feeling that that might be happening sooner than their messenger's young life would suggest.

"No?" Klaus prods. "You're not going to make me regret bringing you along, are you?"

Stefan's expression remains impassive until the Original returns his gaze to the road. Stefan absently scrolls through his phone, as he has been doing ever since they left Mystic Falls. He passes through all of the unanswered text messages with a flick of his thumb. Funny how he's already starting to feel desensitized to that string of increasingly frantic pleas for information. Yet he always stops on that first one...

His brother was okay, and Elena wanted to know where he was.

Yet even that doesn't produce quite the same pang it had at first. He wonders how long Elena will search for him before giving up, if she'll ever manage to see him again. At least Damon is alive to look out for her, so his own personal Faustian deal isn't all for naught... Still, those thoughts send such a chaotic mess of emotions swirling through his head that Stefan almost always finds himself reaching for a drink.

"I think it's time you let go of all your worldly possessions," Klaus eyes the cell phone. "Consider it your penance for a sinful life of control and animal cruelty."

Klaus laughs softly at his own joke, though his smile fades somewhat when Stefan doesn't join in.

"Go on, then," he gestures as the passenger window rolls down.

Stefan's jaw clenches once before he hurls the phone from his grasp. He keeps his focus straight ahead, but it's hard to miss the unmistakable crunch as the case cracks apart against one of the squat, thick-trunked palms lining the road.

Never taking his eyes from the road, Stefan rolls up the window and reaches a hand into the backseat. The bag of O negative he comes back with is downed within seconds.

And Klaus smiles.

* * *

><p>"This isn't going to be a pretty sight," Damon says darkly as Alaric turns the key.<p>

"What makes you say that?" Alaric asks over his shoulder.

"My nose... Among other things..."

Sure enough, Alaric finds his apartment in a distinct state of disarray. He stoops down to gingerly lift a drained blood bag from the floor—he winces as the half-congealed blood comes with it. "Something tells me Klaus and Elijah aren't this messy," he glances up at Damon.

"Baby brother never did embrace table manners," Damon agrees dryly, looking at the mess of blood and plastic with disgust. "I guess we know how Klaus prefers his minions..."

"Unhinged?" Alaric supplies, standing and surveying the rest of the room.

The tension in Damon's muscles is visible as he pulls off his jacket. "Is it hot in here to you?" he asks, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

Alaric's brow furrows. "Do vampires even get hot..?"

Damon ignores the question, draping the leather jacket on a clean chair and walking carefully around the edge of the counter.

"This blood is different..." he stares intently at the sink.

"How can you tell?" Alaric stands by his side, but it just looks like blood to him.

Damon hitches a shoulder. "A refined palette," he drawls, running a finger through the crimson stains. "It's not human, anyway." He sniffs at it, touches his finger to his tongue. "Tastes familiar, though…"

"Klaus?" Alaric guesses, thinking back on the pieces of information he'd been presented that morning, like the corners of a very large puzzle. Bonnie had said the witches suggested Klaus would have the way to save Damon… "You don't think… the cure?"

"Ugh," Damon cringes dramatically, spitting into the basin. "That's disgusting. And _so_ not worth it…"

Alaric flops back against the counter. "My landlord is gonna kill me..." he groans. Might as well make this a full-fledged pity party.

"Sorry, man," Damon claps him on the shoulder, "occupational hazard." He reaches into the cabinet for a bottle of suitable alcohol, raising an eyebrow when he comes up empty. He glances into the trash bin appraisingly. "I guess Katherine was bored..." he mutters over the clink of glass.

"There's usually vodka in the freezer," Alaric says glumly.

"We've been reduced to clear liquor?" Damon sighs theatrically. "You really are in dire straights."

"I can't live here," Alaric accepts the glass gratefully. "Besides the fact that I'm probably going to get evicted and lose my security deposit, it just feels... weird."

"You should see some of the bloodstains at my house."

Alaric shakes his head. "You didn't have the biggest baddest vampire of all time living in your room—half the time wearing a suit of your own skin."

"Possession's a bitch," Damon offers archly, taking a sip from his glass. "You can stay at the Boarding House," he leans against the counter. "It's not exactly lacking in spare rooms."

"Actually, I was thinking about staying with Jeremy and Elena..." He's not sure why, but he's a little afraid of Damon's reaction to this.

"Oh..?" Damon downs the rest of his vodka, hiding an expression that Alaric can't quite read. "Eager to play daddy dearest?"

Alaric looks at him askance. "They need _help_, Damon. I know they've made it through a lot, but did you know the first thing about managing a household at their age? Hell, they can't even vote…" Every time Alaric starts to think about it he finds another example of how _young_ they are—it's easy to forget, when they handle so much with maturity beyond their years.

"You forget we grew up in different times," Damon points out as he refills their glasses, "but I take your point."

"And money!" Alaric goes on. "From what Jenna told me, Grayson and Miranda Gilbert didn't exactly leave a will." _Jenna_… she should be the one worrying about this. Only a few days ago, Alaric was considering worrying about it _with_ her.

It's getting easier to say her name, at least.

"They don't have to worry about money," Damon says quietly.

"Sure they do," Alaric scoffs.

"_No_, they don't," Damon says firmly.

"What are you gonna do, rob a bank?"

"You do know how much this cost, don't you?" Damon plucks at his no doubt expensive shirtsleeve. "I've been around a long time, and I learned a thing or two from the Great Depression. Believe me, if there's one thing Elena and Jeremy don't have to worry about, it's a full bank account."

Alaric considers his friend thoughtfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known it would come down to the two of them to look out for these kids, for the whole lot of them, really—but he wasn't sure how far Damon would be willing to go. The guy would do anything for Elena, but the future was shaping up to require a few extra doses of responsibility. Writing checks was a little impersonal, sure, but it was a start.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Damon purses his lips, strolling to the window. "That's…" he leans forward, distracted, "When did they put…?" he trails off.

"Put what?" Alaric frowns.

Damon shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "Palm trees…" he looks down at his glass, perplexed. "For a second I could've sworn…"

Alaric finds himself standing and walking to the window, but he only sees the usual scene—completely devoid of any tropical foliage.

"Are you sure you're feeling better?" he teases, though in truth it had been hard to believe Damon was anywhere near 100% from the moment he'd opened the Boarding House door that morning.

"I'm going to get sick of that question, aren't I?" Damon mutters, returning to the kitchen counter. "You should think about my offer," he changes the subject. "If you stayed at the Boarding House, I'd even give you the deed."

"In the habit of giving away houses?" Alaric raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was Elena's now."

Damon's expression flickers with new complexities, but it's gone in a flash. "It was mainly to have a decent safehouse," he shrugs, "but I think whatever protections were there got negated when she died."

Alaric doesn't miss the regretful look that mars his features this time.

"I'll think about it," Alaric agrees.

"There's room for the whole clan," Damon reasons, a bit too nonchalantly, "might keep them from suffering a few unwanted houseguests," he points out, the implication clear; though Alaric isn't sure if Jeremy, especially, would be best served by being uprooted.

"And what if it doesn't keep them safe?" Alaric asks quietly, looking at the carnage of his apartment. He doesn't believe for a second that Klaus is gone for good.

"Then we'll be there to kick the big bad's ass," Damon answers matter-of-factly.

They clink their glasses together with practiced ease. Alaric forms a half-smile in spite of himself.

* * *

><p>Elena hears Caroline calling to her, but she can't bring herself to answer.<p>

She's found one of the closed-up bedrooms on her way to the laundry, and has become immensely fascinated with the canopy of the old oak four-poster. It's cool and dark in here, and the tarps covering most of the furniture billow pleasantly in the breeze from the open window. Elena thinks she could stay here for a while.

"Elena..?"

But of course Caroline and her vampire senses—not to mention her human persistence—probably won't let her do any such thing.

"What're you doing in here?" Caroline asks softly as she sits on the edge of the bed.

Elena shrugs half-heartedly, still staring at the canopy.

Caroline runs a hand over the pile of sheets sprawled across Elena's stomach. "Were you going to wash these?" she wrinkles her nose.

Elena nods. She'd sort of forgotten the linens were there, but her fingers are stiff when she finally loosens her grip on them.

"Elena, talk to me..."

"I don't want to talk," Elena manages, her throat sticking on the words. Talking means she has to think, and Elena has placed a boycott on thinking.

"Okay..." Elena can't see Caroline's face but she knows that tone—this is only a temporary reprieve. "Do you mind if I talk?"

Elena shakes her head and mechanically makes room as Caroline stretches out next to her. It reminds her of when they were kids, having slumber parties under tents made of pink sheets and streamers, staying up talking until way past their bedtimes.

But Elena doesn't want to think about that now. She doesn't want to think about times that she was happy.

"I think I might be falling for Tyler," Caroline admits conspiratorially after a moment. "Like, _really_ falling for him."

Elena knows this is when she's supposed to say something back, but she's still off the hook for talking and she's not giving in that easily.

"Everything with Matt still kind of hurts," Caroline plows ahead when it's clear she's on her own. "But I don't think these feelings for Tyler are just a rebound thing... I mean, he's been so sweet these last couple of days. Even before—which I would _never_ have expected—because it's Tyler, right? And _then_," like it's the icing on the cake, "when it comes to all of this supernatural stuff, he _gets_ it, you know?"

Caroline sighs, obviously underestimating the extent to which Elena is not up for this.

"I just keep thinking, though..." Caroline soldiers on. "He left, right? He just _left_ me..."

Yes, Elena thinks, he left you. But Tyler came back.

"I dunno... Maybe I'm overthinking it. Or maybe I shouldn't even _be_ thinking about it, with everything going on—I mean _his_ mom, _my_ mom..."

Elena lets Caroline prattle on for a while, but she doesn't really hear her. She senses her friend carefully skirting the dangerous, off-limits subjects that Elena isn't even allowing her brain to process right now—at least, not any more than she has to.

Caroline's voice is slowly working it's way into the rhythms of the room—Elena could almost call the sing-song melody soothing if it wasn't so falsely chipper. But the effect is ruined anyway by the sudden ringing of her phone.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Caroline asks.

No, she is not going to answer that. It isn't going to be Stefan, she's sure. And if it's anyone else it's just going to be more bad news.

Caroline is sighing and reaching across Elena to pick up the cell phone where it fell onto the bed beside her.

"Elena's phone," she answers brightly. "Oh hi, Jeremy... Yes, it's Caroline. Yea... Uh huh... We can come pick you up. Okay, we'll be there in twenty."

"We?" Elena manages to say.

"Yes," Caroline says firmly, "we."

Her friend gives her a look that brooks no argument and she really doesn't have the energy to fight.

Caroline glances over at her appraisingly as they leave the house. "I'll drive," she decides aloud. "Damon can bring you your car later, or something."

Elena's stomach does a little flop at the sound of his name, at the thought of being in his arms again, at the thought of feeling safe, and not so alone.

God, she's a mess.

She tries to tell herself that it's only because Stefan isn't here—because he is _where_ he is—that _Damon_ has become equated with comfort.

Deep down, she knows that isn't true.

"Hellooo? Earth to Elena," Caroline is waving a hand in the air.

"Hmm?" Elena looks up, distracted.

"Are you gonna get in?"

"Oh," Elena looks down at the car door, her fingers on the handle, but she's not moving.

Caroline is around to her side in a flash, looking—if possible—even more concerned.

"Elena?" she asks, hesitantly. Her hands are on Elena's shoulders, slowly pivoting her around. "Elena, don't do this to yourself," she whispers. "Please..."

Caroline's arms are around her now, and it's making it hard for Elena to keep all of the off-limits thoughts at bay—because all she keeps thinking is these aren't the arms she wants.

* * *

><p>Jeremy pinches himself, trying to stay awake. He's been sitting in this straight-backed chair since two in the morning, and the impatient squirming is finally starting to give way to exhaustion.<p>

But he's been waiting this long, he can wait a little longer.

Bonnie hadn't been interested in Jeremy's map theory. It stings a little, that she didn't believe him.

He wanted to give her a better explanation, but didn't think she was any more likely to believe "my dead ex-girlfriends told me."

Of course, he isn't sure _he'd_ believe him, either.

He'd made an excuse, called Elena for a ride, and went home instead. A million times he started to tell his sister and Caroline what he'd found, but the look on Elena's face held him back. In the end it was easier to let Caroline fill the car with meaningless chatter.

He'd watched Elena go up to her room as if on autopilot, thinking for a moment that he should follow her—she'd always tried to help him, after all, even when he wouldn't let her. But Caroline shook her head sadly, giving him a small smile before heading back to her car.

So Jeremy had pulled out his laptop and tried to do some virtual digging. Nothing seemed to be at that little point on the map, though—just some industrial buildings on the outskirts of town. Alaric showed up eventually, asking what he was doing, but Jeremy was starting to doubt himself by then and so he lied.

He's starting to make a habit of that.

At one thirty, though, he still couldn't sleep. He'd half expected Anna and Vicki to show up again, even started to wish for the reassurance, but they'd never come.

He'd eventually padded down the stairs, hesitating at the hall table. There were Jenna's car keys—thrown haphazardly as if she'd just come home a moment ago. Jeremy had swallowed, and before he could think better of it, snatched them up and grabbed his jacket.

Now he's sitting in the Boarding House, trying not to fall asleep.

He thinks he should've just gone with his first instinct and driven out there himself. But this latest brush with death seems to have left a deeper impression on his psyche, and as sure as he is that there is something out there on the edge of Mystic Falls, he is reluctant to go there alone.

It had been a few minutes before Jeremy had realized where he was driving instead. But something told him that Damon would be as desperate for any sort of lead as Jeremy was desperate to put his mind at ease.

Because this _certainty_ is starting to eat at him.

"You haven't been whittling again, have you?" Damon's sarcastic drawl startles Jeremy out of his reverie. He must've dozed off, not even hearing Damon come in.

"What?" Jeremy manages ineloquently.

"Last time I killed you, I found you in that exact chair with a particularly crude stake in your hand," Damon reminds him, moving through the room slowly. Jeremy doesn't think he looks all that concerned.

"You didn't kill me this time," Jeremy says, plopping down in the more comfortable armchair across from the vampire. He thinks Damon looks as tired as Jeremy feels, but knows better than to say so.

Damon raises an eyebrow. "That's not what it sounded like this morning," he is _actually_ arguing about this, "if I hadn't moved..."

Jeremy shakes his head, unprepared for the intensity of Damon's gaze. He starts to realize it's not just exhaustion in Damon's features. "You didn't mean to," Jeremy insists. "You weren't playing with all your marbles, man—that much was obvious."

Damon nods, but doesn't look entirely convinced. "So if you weren't lying in wait to kill me, what're you doing here?"

"I need your help with something."

Damon glances at his watch. "And it couldn't wait until sunrise?"

"I thought you'd be home," Jeremy shrugs. "Where were you, anyway?"

"Are you my keeper, now?" Damon snarks, but it doesn't have quite the usual bite.

"Hey dude," Jeremy shrugs, refusing to be cowed. "I'm just asking—it's not like it isn't a legitimate question."

Damon stands and walks over to the drinks cart. "I was scouring the town for signs of our good friends Niklaus and Elijah and their new sidekick, if you must know."

Jeremy notices that Damon doesn't say Stefan's name. "No dice, huh?"

"None whatsoever," Damon agrees lowly, regaining his seat. "So tell me, young Gilbert, what can I do for you?"

There's that doubt creeping in again, but he's already here so it's now or never. "I think we need to check this area out," he says, pulling out the map he's already become far too familiar with.

Damon leans forward, squinting at the folded paper. "Why? Did Bonnie find something?"

"No..." Jeremy admits, starting to feel foolish again.

Lie. He should have lied.

"So... what, then?"

"I just have a feeling..." Jeremy mumbles lamely.

"I thought we went through this this morning," Damon sounds annoyed, which is never exactly good. "There's nothing here but me—and if you didn't believe me then, let me assure you now that we've looked. Nobody's here."

"Maybe not, but there's something important there," Jeremy taps the map insistently.

"How do you know?"

"I just..." Jeremy trails off—for a second, just a split-second, he sees Anna and Vicki standing behind Damon. "I just do."

"Not good enough, kid," Damon starts to leave the room.

"Wait," Jeremy spins, grasping for straws. "Do I have to pull out the you just got me killed card?"

Damon stares at him for a moment before smirking slightly. "Don't you want to save that for something really important?"

Jeremy returns the grin, glad the vampire didn't think he'd actually retracted his offer of forgiveness. But he _needs _to see what's out there. "This is important," Jeremy's voice grows more serious. "I'll go by myself if I have to."

He would, too. But he doesn't want to.

Why can't he explain anything today, even to himself?

"You're really that convinced?" Damon asks skeptically.

Jeremy just nods.

"Fine," Damon is already halfway up the stairs. "I'll get Caroline and go check it out after I've had a chance to sleep."

Jeremy's shoulders relax, relieved. "Good," he breathes. "When will you pick me up?"

Damon turns around. "Hmmm, let me see... Never?"

They always do this to him. "I'm tired of being left out," he grits his teeth. "I need to see what's out there."

"I'm not _leaving you out_," Damon sighs, aggravated. He has a distinct ability to make Jeremy feel like a whining five year old. "I'm trying to protect you."

"You don't even think there's anything there," Jeremy is standing now, incredulous.

"I've been wrong before..." Damon mutters.

"I'm going," Jeremy is nothing if not stubborn. It's a family trait.

"You're not," Damon says firmly. "And you're not going to go running out there on your own either," he speeds back down to look Jeremy directly in the eye. "What if you're right, hmm? What if there _is_ something there—and what if you get hurt, or worse? It should be perfectly clear to you by now that that ring does not make you invincible."

"So everyone else gets to risk their lives but me?"

"Sometimes it can't be helped, this time it can," Damon looks at him intently. "Think about how Elena would feel if something happened to you. She doesn't need to lose anyone else."

Jeremy feels as though Damon just hit him. "That's low," he manages.

"It's true," Damon argues.

And the kicker? Jeremy knows that it is.

* * *

><p>"You know, even an undead girl needs her beauty sleep," Caroline yawns as she opens the door.<p>

"No rest for the wicked, Blondie," Damon replies, walking into the Forbes' entryway. "We have work to do."

"Fine," Caroline pouts, "I'll just grab my bag..."

She starts to leave, but runs headlong into her mother instead. "Caroline, I—" the Sheriff is saying, but stops short when she sees Damon.

He feels his muscles tense for the confrontation. He might not remember this time around too clearly, but still—a person can only try to fill you up with those agonizing wooden bullets so many times before you start to feel resentful. And yet...

"Liz," he says evenly.

"Damon," she returns, and damned if she still doesn't look afraid of him.

Caroline, though, just looks nervous. "You aren't going to start trying to kill each other again, are you?"

Damon smirks. "That's up to Trigger-Happy over there."

"I don't want to see anyone else get hurt," Liz swallows.

"Mmm," Damon inclines his head, considering. "Which reminds me, I brought a gift for you," he turns to Caroline, tossing her the bottle with what's left of Klaus' blood.

"What is this?" she looks at it quizzically, turning the vial over in her hands. Damon doesn't miss the faint look of revulsion on Liz's face.

"The cure," Damon supplies. "If you're going to insist on hanging around with Fido, you might need it."

"I told you not to call him things like that," Caroline glares, "Tyler isn't a _dog_."

Damon grins—it's just too easy to get a rise out of her. "Just smile and say thank you, Caroline."

Caroline frowns, looking at the little bottle again. "Don't you want it?"

Damon fights the urge to roll his eyes. Can't she just accept it without him having to explain it to her—or to himself? "I've reached my quota of get out of jail free cards for the month," he purses his lips. "And despite her vampiphobic tendencies, I don't think the Sheriff, here, wants to see her daughter kick the bucket for good."

"What?" Liz furrows her brow. "Caroline, what is he talking about?"

Caroline somehow manages to look guiltily at her mother while shooting daggers at Damon.

"Caroline," Liz's voice lowers warningly. "What is that a cure _for_?"

Damon suddenly comprehends what it means to have a sheriff for a mother. "A werewolf bite," he answers. "Not the most pleasant way to go, believe me."

"A werewolf bite..." Liz's eyes are growing wider, "is fatal to vampires?"

Damon clucks his tongue. "Shouldn't keep things from your mother, Caroline."

"I hadn't gotten to that part of the story, yet," she grinds out with a look that plainly says he has long been _insisting_ that she keep things from her mother.

In fact, he's not so sure that isn't still the best course of action. But then he remembers that the Sheriff's colossal lack of understanding had gotten Jeremy killed... And they were just lucky it didn't stick.

"So Tyler..." Liz starts to put two and two together. "Tyler can kill you?"

"But he won't," Caroline says firmly.

"But he _can_," Liz repeats.

Caroline rolls her eyes like the petulant teenager she is. "We don't have time for this, Mom. Damon and I have things to do," she stalks off to her room before her mother has a chance to react.

"You and I are on the same side, you know," Damon says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Just don't make Caroline have to compel you again."

"Compel me?" Liz frowns as Caroline reenters, bag in hand.

Damon looks incredulously at the young vampire. "You didn't release her from your compulsion?"

Caroline looks back and forth between them, as though this had never occurred to her.

"You know," Damon points out sarcastically, "that probably would've made all of this explaining a hell of a lot easier."

Liz is still looking perplexed and Caroline more than a little weary when the daughter takes hold of her mother's shoulder. "Mom," she says hesitantly, "this is gonna be a lot..."

It's over in a moment, as Caroline backs away—a flash of something in her features that makes Damon think she's just relived something she thought she'd left far behind.

"Come on," he steps back towards the door.

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'll be home later, okay?"

Liz just stares after them both like she's never really seen either of them before.

"I thought we searched every inch of town last night," Caroline says after a few minutes in the car.

"Jeremy has a _feeling_," Damon drawls.

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm not."

"But we're going anyway?"

"Yes, we are," Damon says with a sense of finality. He can't afford to leave any stone unturned.

"Why'd you bring me along?" Caroline asks, just a hint of insecurity creeping in.

"I can turn back around, if you'd rather," Damon offers wryly. He's not going to tell her that he's not feeling like himself, that at least she has some weapons at her disposal, that of all of the people he's been around today she's the only one who seems even remotely to have it together.

She's quiet again, but it isn't long before she's fidgeting, tapping her foot, picking at her nails. "We really aren't going to talk at all?" she asks at last.

Damon _really_ isn't in the mood. And besides, he can't shake the feeling that it's hotter than it really is, that the day is brighter than the cloud-strewn skies would suggest. A vampire never forgets the feeling of the sun on his skin—ring or not.

Caroline sighs, reaching for the radio dial. "You used to be more fun," she sulks.

Damon has to raise an eyebrow at that.

She doesn't miss it, crossing her arms primly. "Don't get me wrong—you're a jerk and you used me, but you never used to be this _mopey_."

_That's_ a little hard to swallow.

Damon laughs at himself—Stefan left town, took Damon's mojo and replaced it with brooding. Typical.

Just another reason to get his sorry ass back.

They've pulled up to the location Jeremy pinpointed on the map—it doesn't look like much. Some abandoned industrial warehouses clustered around an old mill. Rust is the predominant feature.

Damon turns to Caroline, grabbing her wrist unyieldingly before she has a chance to get out of the car. She looks at him questioningly, with just a hint of trepidation.

"I'm going to need your help before this is over," he says seriously. "Are you up for that?"

Caroline's blue eyes take on a hint of steel as she nods once. Damon releases her arm.

They search through the buildings, around corners and under heavy machinery, finding nothing. Old crates and moth-eaten bales, shipping containers covered in graffiti. Nothing seems out of place, or even vaguely interesting.

Caroline finds him on the roof of the run-down factory, surveying the landscape. "Nothing?" she asks tentatively.

Damon doesn't say anything, just lashes out with a kick to worn plastic pail. It's not exactly satisfying.

"There'll be other ideas," she offers meekly, standing back.

The sun is starting to set, but Damon doesn't want to go back yet, empty-handed for another night. Caroline has the good sense to wait patiently.

By the time the moon starts to rise, just a few days wane from full, she's taken a seat on the top rung of the escape ladder.

She's walked to his side now, though, a pensive expression on her face. He's not going to look at her.

"We're going to find him, Damon," she doesn't look at him either.

This is going to become their mantra, he can tell.

She breathes. "We have to."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Keep your support and reviews coming – they make my day and keep me going!**


	4. What Will We See

**Author's Note: Another day, another chapter... hopefully you won't mind another long one – enjoy!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong>Four: What Will We See<strong>

* * *

><p>"Damon!" Carol exclaims with the smile that Damon never quite buys. "I was so relieved to hear from you—we were worried when we couldn't reach you the other night."<p>

"Sorry," Damon smiles somewhat more convincingly as he enters the foyer, "I had some sort of… bug. Could barely get out of bed."

"Something _is_ going around," Carol says agreeably. "Sherry?"

Damon accepts the little glass, barely able to hide his disdain.

"Everyone is already gathered in the study," Carol gestures to the closed doors. "There's a lot to discuss."

Damon raises an eyebrow as though he doesn't already know _exactly_ what there is to _discuss_, and follows. The idle chatter stops when he enters, a small sea of expectant faces turn towards him.

Oh, how he _loathes_ these people.

One, in particular, catches his eye. "Damon Salvatore," he extends his hand to the young man seated alone on the settee, "I don't believe we've met."

"Oh," Carol actually blushes, as though not being the perfect hostess has embarrassed her, "Damon, this is Jasper Fell."

"Pleasure," Jasper takes Damon's hand.

"Logan's… brother?" Damon guesses. He does look an awful lot like the little twit.

"Cousin," Jasper clarifies.

"I know we're all anxious to get home," Carol raises her voice to address the group. "So let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Am I late?" a voice calls from the entry.

Carol's expression hardens. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Excuse me?" Liz tries to smile, and utterly fails. "This is a Council meeting, isn't it?" she looks around. "Last time I checked, I was still on the Council."

Damon had, in fact, made sure she knew about it—_he'd_ called the meeting, after all—but that didn't mean he'd brought the subject up with Carol. Much more revealing to gauge a reaction in person…

Carol rolls her eyes. "And here I'd thought you'd forgotten our important work here," she raises her chin haughtily.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Liz asks, indignation coloring her tone.

"We've had attack after attack, but lately, you never seem to catch the culprit," Carol's features take on acrid edge.

"I'm doing everything I can," Liz takes a deep breath.

"Is that what you told the Jacobsons?" one of the Lockwood cousins sneers from behind the desk.

"The Jacobson boy was unfortunate," Liz allows, "I won't rest until we catch the monster that killed him."

"You must be pretty tired, then," Carol's voice is cool. "Proof of increased vampire traffic in Mystic Falls is mounting—we don't need promises, we need results. If I need to find a more _action_-oriented Sheriff…" she leaves the implication hanging.

"I'm an elected official, Carol," Liz is growing irritated. "You can't just _remove_ me—especially when you can't explain why to your _adoring_ public."

"I'm sure I can find a reason they'll appreciate—surely, if the authorities can't even protect the town from a few _wild animals_…"

"That's _hardly_," Liz splutters, "Carol, you—" she starts again, but Damon steps between them. He's seen enough.

"Ladies, ladies," he holds up his hands soothingly. "Times are tough, tempers are high—let's not say anything we'll regret."

"She _knows_ the threat we're facing, Damon," Carol looks at him heatedly. "As Mayor, as a _mother_, I'd like to see her do something about it."

Damon wishes she knew her son had no problem taking care of himself. "I was just meeting with Sheriff Forbes this morning," he lies. "She's shown me the work she and her deputies have been doing—I have no doubt that we have a certain… infestation. But with their current resources and inherent weaknesses, they are handling it as best they can, from what I can see."

Carol doesn't look convinced, but rather like a bloodhound deprived of her favorite snack.

"Besides," Damon shrugs, each word calculated towards what he really wants to know, "it seems to me like we might have some other forces at work, here. The Sheriff may be operating at a disadvantage."

"We _did_ discuss another threat," a plump woman reminds the group—Damon thinks her name is Brenda.

"Oh?" Damon feigns surprise. "Carol, you didn't mention."

"We only just learned about it last weekend," Carol's eyes narrow slightly. "When Jasper returned to us."

Jasper shifts slightly in his seat. "I know you all aren't ready to believe me," he sits up straighter, "but the evidence is pretty credible."

"What are we talking about, here?" Damon crosses his arms, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Werewolves," Jasper says seriously.

Damon remembers to laugh. It wasn't so long ago he'd greeted similar news with such skepticism. "Am I going to remember you as the boy who cried wolf?" he chides.

"I thought it was nuts, too," Jasper shrugs. "When John Gilbert asked me to look into it last year, I told him he was off his rocker."

_John_, Damon thinks bitterly. That man was still making trouble for him from beyond the grave. Damon always thought John knew—or suspected—more than he was letting on… That little incident with the infamous _device_ probably set John's gears turning, if they hadn't been cranking before.

It was too bad the clues didn't lead back to the Lockwoods as they should have—that would wipe that smug smile off of Carol's face…

"And what changed your mind?" he asks.

"To be honest," Jasper explains, "I wasn't getting much of anywhere until about a month ago. I was doing some research in a dusty little set of archives outside of Topeka when I met this British guy—said he was over from Manchester looking for the same volume I was. Set me in the right direction."

"Did this British guy have a name?" Damon already doesn't like this.

"Nicholas," Jasper looks at him as though this is the least of their concerns.

To Damon, who has an Original vampire named _Niklaus_ making his life a living hell, it couldn't be more important.

"And so now we're supposed to beware the full moon?" Damon continues to scoff. No sense in being too easily persuaded.

"I can share my research with you later, if you like," Jasper remains calm. "In fact, you might…"

But the young Fell's voice is fading in Damon's ears. The room is growing darker, too—hazy. _"—alive? You never mentioned that she's _alive_—"_ he hears the voice as if through water, but he knows those tones all too well.

"Damon?" Carol is looking at him.

"Hmm?" he shakes his head, can tell he's missed something.

"Are you feeling alright?" Carol's brow furrows.

"I guess I'm still getting over that little flu," he smiles at her. At least it was one more check in the 'appears human' column.

"Maybe we should return to this when you're feeling better," Carol is still frowning.

"No, no," Damon smiles. "Please, continue," he nods at Jasper.

"Well, I was just saying—" he starts, but he could be telling a knock-knock joke for all Damon knows.

_"—changes _everything. _Let's show her what she's missing—"_ Klaus's voice is stronger this time, and Damon could swear for a moment that Stefan is standing in the corner of the room, a haunted look in his eyes. _"—you'll _make_ it possible_—_"_ an unfamiliar face swims in Damon's vision.

"Damon?" Liz is at his elbow this time. "You really don't look well…"

Damon shakes her off, taking a deep breath. This is absurd.

"Honestly, Damon," Carol agrees with the Sheriff for once tonight—at least Damon has managed to unite them on something—stepping towards him, "you shouldn't push yourself."

"Maybe you're right," he allows. "Jasper, perhaps you can come by the house tomorrow—I'd like to hear more about this new menace."

"Of course," Jasper nods.

Damon allows Liz to walk him out, though he shrugs away her offered balancing hand. "I'm fine, Liz, really," he says as they walk outside.

"If you say so," Liz frowns.

"Don't act like you really care," Damon walks carefully to his car.

Liz is quiet for a moment. "I remember now, you know," she says simply. "It seems you understand my daughter better than I do," she adds, "thank you for… for looking out for her."

Damon snorts. He definitely doesn't deserve _that_. "I wouldn't thank me just yet," he mutters under his breath. Sometimes he thinks his whole life is an endless highway where the only exits are guilt and atonement.

There's silence again as he stares into the gathering gloom as though he'll find answers there.

He doesn't think they'll be the answers he wants.

Damon knows Liz is watching him, but he's not about to bring this newest twist in his comically tragic, undead life up with _her_. He's not really that keen on telling _anyone_ that he appears to be losing his godforsaken mind.

And the only person he'd even _consider_ telling hasn't exactly seemed like she could take it…

"You're sure you don't need a ride home or anything?" Liz speaks at last.

"All I need is some fresh air," Damon leans against the cool metal of his car.

"Okay…" Liz starts to go back inside. "Damon?" she turns, hand on the doorknob.

"Mmmm?"

"Thanks for sticking up for me in there."

Damon nods once, looking away as the door closes behind her. He climbs into the driver's seat, but can't bring himself to turn the ignition, unable to get that little glimpse of his brother—or Klaus' ominous words—out of his mind. They'd certainly seemed real… but that's ridiculous.

He's stopped playing with all his marbles, plain and simple. And who could blame him…

It's been five long days since Stefan left. Five days of useless spells from Bonnie. Five days of endless pep talks from Caroline. Of mind-numbing research from Alaric. Of bizarre behavior from Jeremy.

Five days of near silence from Elena.

Sure, she nods along at a new piece of information or offers a suggestion when an item is needed for a new spell. But it's like she's walking around in a fragile shell of herself, ready to break into a million pieces.

Damon can't bring himself to be the hammer that makes the fatal crack—he's not sure he'll be able to put her back together again.

* * *

><p>"Come <em>on<em>…" Caroline wheedles, "you need to get out of the house."

Bonnie looks back at her books and papers stacked high on the dining room table, biting her lip. "I don't know, Caroline…"

"They'll still be there when you get back," Caroline brushes off her friend's worry. "Maybe if you give your brain a little break, the answers will come to you."

Bonnie narrows her eyes, "That's what you used to say when we were studying for our math exams—right before you went in the next day and flunked."

Caroline ignores the dig at her otherwise stellar record. "Yea, but you passed with flying colors! Come on, Bonnie," she says again, "we're already here."

"You ambushed us!"

"With the best intentions," Caroline smiles, looking over Bonnie's shoulder to where Jeremy and Tyler are laughing in the kitchen. "Besides, I want to test a theory…"

Bonnie sighs, "I should've known…"

"Mostly to get you to relax!" Caroline assures her, but she can't be faulted for killing two birds with one stone.

"And what's the other part?" Bonnie asks with the tired expression of someone who's lived through ten too many of Caroline's schemes.

"I want to see how Tyler thinks of us," Caroline grins.

Bonnie raises an eyebrow. "And this requires dragging me and Jeremy to the Grill?"

Caroline lets out an exasperated breath—sometimes Bonnie suffered from seriously uninspired thinking. "Four friends just hanging out," she raises one hand like a scale, "or a nice little double date," she raises the other hand with half a giggle. "It'll be fun!" she insists. "And it's Matt's night off, so no worries there—and you guys really _do _need to leave this room once in awhile."

"You are incorrigible…"

"Does that mean you'll go?" Caroline is bouncing on her toes, sensing victory.

"Let me just get my coat," Bonnie agrees, the ghost of a bemused grin on her face.

Two hours later they've made it through two games of pool, an order of cheese fries and three baskets of teriyaki wings. As Caroline sips at her Oreo milkshake she marvels, not for the first time, how she could possibly _not_ need this to survive.

All the same, it's starting to feel like a blissfully normal evening. Bonnie has been genuinely laughing, Jeremy doesn't look quite as edgy as he has lately, and Caroline is taking advantage of every opportunity Tyler gives her. Each time he helps her line up a shot over the cue, or when he stretches his arm across the length of the booth, she feels that pleasant little buzz run through her veins. She still doesn't know what she really wants, how she's supposed to feel, but Caroline is tired of thinking about it.

Tonight, she wants to be a decide-by-_doing_ kind of girl.

She doesn't want to let the deluge of cold water that just splashed onto her feel like a metaphor.

"Oh man, I am so sorry," Jeremy is saying, hurriedly picking up his overturned glass as Caroline skitters out of her seat. "I'll just go get—"

Bonnie reaches out a hand to stop his progress, looking around furtively. "It's okay, I can have this dry in no time," she assures them, holding out a hand.

The spilled water sort of shudders on the slick wood surface, but nothing happens.

"That's odd…" Bonnie's brow furrows, reaching out towards Caroline's soaked shirt under the guise of blotting it with a napkin. Bonnie's eyes screw shut, but Caroline feels little more than a little extra warmth in her friend's skin.

"It's okay, Bon," Caroline hurriedly assures the young witch. "I've seen what you can do with water, anyway—and I don't do so well with fire these days."

"But I—" Bonnie's frown deepens, holding both hands over the table now.

"We're starting to draw attention, here…" Tyler mutters under his breath.

"Really, I'll just go get some towels," Jeremy shoots a concerned look at his girlfriend before running off towards the bar.

"But it _should_…" Bonnie stubbornly reaches out over the table once more, and gasps slightly as the water vanishes, leaving little but a few wisps of steam.

Caroline stares at her friend. "What happened?" she whispers, leaning forward.

Bonnie looks up at her, surprised. "I don't know… it just… it felt like an energy surge, only I didn't realize anything was missing before… Here, let me try again," she reaches out for Caroline's top. She's dry and toasty warm in seconds, just as Jeremy returns with the towels.

"Oh," he plops down into his seat, "you got it to work?"

"Yea," Bonnie shrugs. "I guess I really did need a little R&R," she half-smiles. "Now come on," she stands, "I think we need a battle of the sexes round of nine-ball—losers buy the drinks."

The little group rises dutifully, and Caroline is careful to keep the smile plastered on her face. But as she catches Jeremy's eye over the pool table, her happy mask falters.

So long, "normal," it was nice knowing you.

* * *

><p>"That was fun," Bonnie sighs contentedly, dropping her bag by the stairs and turning back with an alluring smile.<p>

"Yea…" Jeremy desperately wants to be in her mood, but something is nagging at him as Caroline's headlights retreat from the driveway and he closes the door behind them. "Weird about your powers, though…"

"You're the one telling me I've been burning the candle at both ends," Bonnie shrugs, taking a few steps closer and running her hands over his biceps. "I was just a little worn out, that's all."

"But, I—"

"No buts," she interjects, holding a finger to his lips.

His gaze roaming over her flushed cheeks, dark eyes sparkling, lips twisted in a playful grin, Jeremy can feel his defenses weakening. She senses it too, replacing her finger with a swift, gentle kiss.

The front door opens behind them suddenly, and Bonnie pulls away, startled. She rubs her bare arms in the chill breeze as Jeremy hurries to shut the door again. He's sure he sees a dark, familiar figure standing at the end of the hall when he turns back around, but he ignores it. Bonnie is right in front of him and smiling that secret smile like she does and she is _alive_.

"Guess I didn't shut it tight enough," he half-laughs apologetically.

"Guess not," Bonnie grins back. "It's a little cold in here, anyway," she says, pulling him towards the living room. "Much better to be where it's _hot_…"

Jeremy allows himself to be pushed down onto the couch, pulling Bonnie down with him. Her compact form settles perfectly into the space created by his arms as his fingers play with the hem of her shirt and she kisses him fiercely.

_"Were you always this _steamy_?"_

Jeremy's eyes fly open at the voice—Vicki's voice—but Bonnie doesn't seem to notice.

_Bonnie_…

She deepens the kiss and it's the best distraction from dead ex-girlfriends he's had all week. He's determined to enjoy this—this _incredible_ girl _right here_—throws himself into exploring every contour of her jaw, her collarbone, her shoulder… She responds in kind, fiercely capturing his lips again.

_"Do that thing with the tip of your tongue…" _A little tickle at his ear sends an electric current down his spine.

Jeremy's yelp of surprise is muffled against Bonnie's mouth as he pulls back sharply, fighting off a familiar ache that has little to do with any of Bonnie's ministrations.

"What? What is it?" Bonnie searches his face, startled. "Did I do something wrong..?" she bites her lip, embarrassed.

"What?" he looks at her, tearing his eyes away from the sight of Anna, leaning in the doorway with a little, bemused wave. "Oh, no," he tries to assure Bonnie. "I just, um…" his brain can't process anything coherent as he grasps for an excuse. "I just need to go—I, uh, I… I need to go."

He jumps up from the couch unceremoniously, walking quickly for the hallway.

"Jeremy, wait!" Bonnie runs after him, catching him as he pulls on his jacket. "Let me—" she falters, obviously confused and growing anxious. "Let me drive you, at least."

Anna and Vicki are standing on either side of her now, smiling enigmatically. Jeremy feels himself blanche.

"No, no it's not far—I'll—I'll walk."

He shuts the door behind him, breathing heavily, the blood rushing through his ears. He doesn't have to look behind him to know that he only left one girl standing in that hallway.

* * *

><p>Elena is expecting the solace of a gentle summer evening as she steps onto her front porch.<p>

That's when she finds it.

So she drives. Drives from the home that used to be a beacon of safety and comfort to the house where she found that security again, only to lose it in one fell swoop.

_It's_ sitting on the passenger's seat the whole time, taunting her.

She arrives, out of breath, her whole body shuddering on a cellular level, threatening to rattle the teeth out of her head as she bites down on the waves of anxiety and disquiet.

She cannot afford to let her mind go to those places. _Cannot_.

She doesn't even bother to knock, just walks in the front door, suddenly feeling silly at the realization that there might not be anyone home.

"Elena?" Damon appears in front of her as if he materialized out of thin air.

Of course, he _is_ there, he always seems to be there—if she'd just let herself go looking.

"Did Stefan do this?" Elena thrusts it in his face, voice as even as she can make it.

"What is this?" he takes it from her shaking grip, turning it over in his hand. He carefully pulls the crumpled newspaper away to reveal the blood bag beneath. His face darkens as he scans the headline on the paper, sees her name scribbled on the bag's label. "Where did you get this?" he grits out.

"It was on my doorstep," Elena answers quietly.

Damon curses under his breath, walking away from her into the parlor. It's a few seconds before it occurs to Elena to follow.

"You didn't answer my question," she says, all traces of strength absent from her voice.

"Hmmm?" Damon turns back to her. She can tell he isn't telling her something, but she won't let her brain play _that_ guessing game.

"Did Stefan do that?" she asks again, pointing. "What it says?"

_…twenty-nine confirmed dead…three children missing…spokesman for Seminole tribe calls it worst massacre since…unrecognizable…_

Damon is looking at her now, those clear blue eyes boring into her—she feels as if there's actual _weight_ behind them.

All she can do is turn away, hand at her mouth.

Because that's all the answer she needs.

She doesn't have the energy to resist as he guides her to the couch, eases her onto the cushions so that he can crouch in front of her.

"Elena, listen to me," he says, soft but firm. "Are you listening?"

She manages to nod.

"What Stefan _does_ is not who he _is_."

Elena looks up at him, searches his gaze. "This is a part of him," she argues.

"Only a part," Damon's hands are on either side of her, mere centimeters away from her bare legs.

"It's a part I've never seen before," Elena whispers. "Not even the last time…"

Damon is silent, but she knows he wishes she didn't have to see it now, either, or ever again. Part of _her_ wishes he would make excuses, rationalizations—reason that it might not even _be_ Stefan who did all of those horrible, nauseating things.

The other part of her knows she wouldn't have come here if that were what she wanted. What she _needed_.

"He'll fight it," Damon offers quietly.

"What if he doesn't?"

"We'll fight it for him."

Elena looks over at the bag of blood he's discarded on the table, her name written in bold letters. Damon follows her gaze.

"Klaus is just trying to taunt you," he looks back at her. "Don't. Let. Him. Win."

Elena feels as though he's already won.

"I could always see _Stefan_ in there, before, when he…" she trails off, swallowing hard. "Is he still? Is Stefan…" she can't say it. Every time the words flash in front of her mind, she thinks she's already lost the boy she knew.

That's when Damon's fingers finally connect with her skin. He doesn't say anything, just grazes over her knees to her hands in her lap, lightly covering them with his own. His eyes never leave hers, not even for a moment.

It's the most she's felt in days.

* * *

><p>Alaric opens the Gilberts' door cautiously, still not feeling like he's supposed to be here on his own even if he has a key. He hasn't really talked to Jeremy about it since that first night, and Elena just nods absently at most anything anyone says, but no one has raised any objection to his sleeping on the couch.<p>

Still, Alaric feels like he's in limbo—but he isn't prepared to go, or to leave them alone.

"Anyone home..?" he calls out lamely.

A dark and empty house answers him. He sighs, flips on the light and settles down in front of the television.

Conan is halfway through his monologue when the door bursts open. Alaric is on his feet and calculating the distance to the closest stash of weapons when he sees Jeremy storm past towards the kitchen.

When Alaric arrives, the teenager has already chugged over half a bottle of beer.

"Hey now," Alaric frowns, concerned, "don't you think you ought to slow down, there?"

"No," Jeremy answers curtly, slamming the empty bottle down on the counter and reaching for another one.

"Hey," Alaric says again, momentarily forgetting he's standing on shaky ground here, authority-wise. "That's enough."

Jeremy hardly registers the closing of the refrigerator door, just stalks off into the living room and starts manically pacing the length of the mantle. It's seriously starting to freak Ric out.

"Did something happen?" he asks slowly. "Bonnie?" he guesses, "Weren't you with Bonnie?"

Jeremy stops moving just as suddenly as he started. He stares at Alaric for a moment before visibly deflating. "Dude… I'm losing it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever since—" he starts, looking off in every direction, talking a mile a minute, "I just can't go anywhere, _do_ anything—they're in my _head_ and they're _there_ but they hardly say _anything_ or explain and _I just want_—"

"Whoa, whoa," Alaric holds up both hands, walking towards the young man gradually. "Slow down, and start from the beginning. You can talk to me."

Jeremy looks at Alaric as if seeing him for the first time. "You can't tell anyone," his eyes are wide.

"I don't know if I can make that promise," Alaric replies, years as an educator getting him at least that far.

"Please," Jeremy says simply.

"I…" Alaric knows he should refuse, but the kid obviously needs to get something off of his chest, and it might as well be to him. "I'll do what I can, okay? Just tell me what's bothering you and we'll figure it out."

"I don't know what they'd say…" Jeremy's eyes are still rounded.

"Say about _what_?" Alaric urges.

"I'm seeing things," Jeremy looks at him askance. "Seeing _people_," he corrects.

"What, like hallucinations?"

"I don't know, maybe…" Jeremy slumps onto a nearby ottoman. "Maybe I need an MRI or a visit to the psych ward or something—it seems crazy, but they look so _real_, they _feel_ so real…"

"Who, Jeremy?" Alaric's stomach is starting to knot. "Who's 'they'?"

"Anna and Vicki," Jeremy swallows, looking at the floor.

Alaric wants to laugh incredulously, scoff at the very least—he's seen a lot of bizarre stuff, but this is straight-up ludicrous. One look at Jeremy's stricken, taut expression, though, and the protests die on his lips. "You're _seeing_ Pearl's daughter Anna and Vicki Donovan? Two dead girls—dead _vampires_," he manages instead.

Jeremy nods, voice shallow. "They're here right now."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope to have a new update for you by Tuesday – please leave a review in the meantime, and let me know what you think!**


	5. Won't Break You Even

**Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone reviewing, alerting, and favoriting! I'm truly thankful for your support and - not meaning to play the world's smallest violin, but - I'd love to rustle up some more of you out there! So please do continue or consider leaving reviews - and if you think the story worthy, I hope you might recommend it to your ff friends or your own readers. It's hard to keep up this pace for my health, after all! ;)**

**Okay enough of my yammering - thank you all again for reading, I hope this chapter is to your liking!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Five: Won't Break You Even<em>**

* * *

><p>"Just try to get some rest, okay?" Damon is saying softly when Alaric emerges from the living room. It's a tone if voice Alaric has rarely heard from the vampire, but it doesn't phase Elena, who simply nods tiredly and trudges up the stairs.<p>

It's hard to miss the way her fingers linger near his until the last moment, a hair's breath apart but never closing the distance.

"Did she sleep at all?" Alaric asks from the archway into the living room.

Damon turns, showing no indication of being surprised by the teacher's presence. "Not a wink," Damon's jaw clicks, his eyes darkening. "Having your nightmares staring you in the face provides little incentive to actually close your eyes."

He hands Alaric a worn piece of newsprint, crossing his arms. Even though Damon had called to tell him about it—and where Elena was—last night, seeing the words in print can't help but make Ric's stomach turn anew.

"There was another one this morning," Alaric says reluctantly, pulling the newspaper clipping from his pocket and handing it to Damon.

The vampire's eyes scan the words quickly—Alaric can tell when he gets to the part about the twin coeds, but he isn't eager to revisit those mental images himself.

"_Damn_ him," Damon practically growls, crumpling the paper in his hands.

"Beer..?" Alaric offers helplessly after a beat.

"Something stronger," Damon counters, already walking towards the kitchen.

Alaric is pulling two glasses from the cabinet when Jeremy walks in. "Weren't you just onto me for wanting a drink last night?" he raises an eyebrow. "It's barely nine in the morning."

Alaric is floundering for an excuse that doesn't make him feel like such a hypocrite when Damon interjects sarcastically. "Morning drinking is something you're allowed to do when you're my age and have a homicidal brother haunting your every step—Ric's just saving me from drinking alone."

Not exactly awe-inspiring, but it'll do.

Jeremy just snorts, and pulls a box of cereal from the pantry. The kid's eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles—Alaric is sure he didn't get much sleep last night either. Even after he'd heard Jeremy's full story, Ric had been at a loss for what to say. Despite the implausibility, it had been hard not to believe him, though—not when he looked like _that_.

Still, as long as Jeremy is going to insist on keeping this news under wraps, Alaric suspects he will continue to find himself personally ill-equipped at resolving ghostly visitations.

Jeremy stops abruptly on his way out of the kitchen, shakes his head slightly before plowing ahead. His footsteps land hard on the stairs a moment later.

Yea, definitely hard not to believe he's seeing _something_.

"What's up with him?" Damon drawls.

For a second, Ric considers divulging the facts, such as they are, but he isn't ready to betray the kid's confidence. At least, not yet...

"He's just got some things on his mind..." he demurs instead.

Damon raises an eyebrow, muttering almost to himself, "_Don't we all_..."

Both men take a long drink in the silence that follows, Damon looking over appraisingly as he sets his empty tumbler on the counter. "What aren't you telling me?" his eyes are narrowed.

"What aren't you telling _me_?" Alaric doesn't miss a beat.

Damon smirks faintly at that. "I see you've started accessorizing again," he nods towards Alaric's hand.

Alaric looks down at the ring thoughtfully, subconsciously turning it on his finger. "Elena gave it back to me yesterday," he explains. "For safe-keeping, she claimed."

In truth, Alaric hadn't wanted to take it from her—not even when she insisted it did her no good and probably never would. Yet when she'd closed his fingers around the cool metal, saying she _wanted_ him to have it, he couldn't help but feel grateful. When she'd added she'd feel better knowing he was safe with a glimmer of her old, sad smile, his heart in his throat prevented him from saying no.

"Good," Damon draws him out of his reverie, "you're more useful with nine lives."

A contemplative stillness settles over the kitchen and Alaric thinks he probably should've had breakfast before switching to whiskey. The longer Damon absently twirls that newspaper clipping around on the counter the dizzier Alaric becomes.

"Do you really think Stefan is capable of that?" Alaric nods at the article.

"Oh, he's certainly _capable_," Damon answers darkly. "Even without the help and encouragement he is no doubt receiving."

Alaric swallows, stares—it's hard not to imagine the gruesome scenes.

"And here you thought I was the evil brother," Damon adds wryly. "Believe me, I _wish_ I was as bad as it gets."

Alaric considers Damon sadly. There was certainly a time when the eldest Salvatore seemed like the worst of the worst—and Ric isn't in the habit of rationalizing a person's past actions, even if that means he sometimes has a hard time explaining this particular... friendship to himself—but he's learned you can't judge a book by it's cover or even it's first few pages where Damon is concerned. "You don't have to try to make light of it, you know," he offers.

Damon doesn't respond, just continues to twirl the paper.

"I don't like the way Klaus is targeting Elena," he says after a moment.

"I wouldn't expect that you would," Alaric responds dryly.

"We should reconsider our safest position," Damon ignores the comment.

"What, your near-constant nightly vigils around the perimeter and a live-in, certified vampire hunter aren't protection enough?"

Alaric sighs inwardly... _Who's making light of the situation now?_

It really shouldn't be any wonder that they get along.

Damon smirks slightly, but it's the only hint that he appreciates Alaric's point. "We shouldn't wait too long," he says instead. "I don't like not knowing their next move, either."

"At least we know they're in Florida," Alaric points out, glancing again at the headlines.

Damon nods. "For now..."

* * *

><p>As he walks back to his car, Damon thinks there's more than one reason Alaric might be reluctant to pull Jeremy and Elena out of their childhood home—the way Ric was holding a family photo of Jenna as Damon left being his <em>first<em> clue.

At least Elena's breathing is easy with sleep upstairs, so that's something.

She hadn't said much more last night—only sat quietly with him, staring into a fire neither of them really needed. And even if he hadn't been able to bring himself to lay his own burdens down upon her, Damon has to admit he feels a little better anyway.

But he _knows_ he needs to tell her what's going on. And not just for the sake of being honest with her...

Before he says anything else, though, he needs to figure out if he's having a "sign me up for a straightjacket" or a "just hand me a crystal ball" kind of conversation. What he's seeing and what's actually been happening fit together too well to be a coincidence, but his brain is still screaming _'ridiculous!'_ so he's going to need more than circumstantial evidence.

Despite being a supernatural entity himself, Damon is still a see-it-to-believe-it kind of guy.

Sadly, a little more hocus-pocus might be as close as he can get to proof...

"Damon," Bonnie says, surprised, as she opens the door. "Is Jeremy okay?"

Damon notes the pitch of panic hidden in her tones as only a predator would. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"Last night, he just—" she gestures out into the world. "_Oh, never mind_..." she blushes. "What can I do for you?"

"Do we have to discuss this with a threshold between us?"

Bonnie narrows her eyes, but steps back. "I suppose not," she concedes. "Come on in, I was just making some coffee."

Damon notes the books piling high and strewn with haphazard purpose around the living space as he follows her in. Too bad all of that study wasn't doing anyone much good...

"So I'm assuming this isn't just a social call?" she asks, pouring cream into her coffee.

Damon cuts to the chase. "I need you to see if there are any lingering side-effects to the werewolf bite, or to the cure."

"What makes you think there are?"

"Call it a hunch."

"As far as a I know, you're a fairly unique case, Damon," Bonnie sips her coffee slowly. "I don't know of another vampire that's survived a bite, and the witches didn't want to tell me about the cure in the first place—much less explain how it works."

"_You're_ a witch," Damon crosses his arms. "You should be able to sense if there's any magic at work, at least. Run a few of your voodoo tests."

"Suit yourself," Bonnie shrugs, padding into the living room. "But I'm not making any promises—and don't think it won't hurt."

Damon grimaces behind her back. Of _course_ it would hurt.

Bonnie gestures for him to sit, and places her hands a few inches out on either side of his head as her own eyes drift closed. She's just barely begun to chant when her eyes fly open and she pulls back as if shocked.

"What?" Damon asks, alarmed. "Did you find something?"

"No..." Bonnie stares at her hands. "It was just, I haven't felt... That was _weird_..."

"_What_?" he repeats, impatiently.

"I haven't felt that in touch with my powers all week," she explains. "I thought I was just tired, but I called on it just now and it just _flowed_..."

"Don't tell me I'm your lucky rabbit's foot or something."

"No," she looks around, frowning. "_Something's changed_..." Her frown deepens and she barely speaks aloud, "Last night... And Jeremy walked away..."

"Something you'd like to share with the class?" Damon raises an eyebrow.

Bonnie shakes her head, looks back at him, distracted. "I... I need to do some research."

"Well can it wait? I have better things to do than help you figure out your witchy surge protector."

"Yea… yea, sure..." Bonnie raises her hands again. She can't be too focused if she's ignoring all these jibes.

Damon can't feel anything at first, and it lulls him into a false sense of security. Of course, that's when the first tendril of her power shoots through his head like a serrated knife.

Damon grits his teeth—surely it can't be any worse than her infamous headaches.

He's wrong.

His eyes are squeezed shut as she continues, but now each new probe is coming with a flash of recognition. At first he thinks it's a memory, before he realizes he's never been to that building before and he's never seen most of these people, and each scene is playing out like the staccato frames of a long forgotten silent film.

_Stefan_.

_Stefan with far too much blood on his hands, splattered on his cheeks, running down his chin._

_A maniacal grin that sucks all of the air out of the room._

_Running, running, a _game_—and the girl won't get away._

_Two young men, the life drained out of them, twisted in a cruel imitation of human form._

_Stefan..._

The pain is gone as suddenly as it began, but _ache_ and something like nausea lingers with a vengeance.

"What did you see?" Bonnie narrows her eyes suspiciously, and Damon belatedly remembers her penchant for reading people.

It's a good thing she didn't actually touch him, or they both might've gotten more than they bargained for from this little experiment.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he ignores her with a glare, rubbing his temples and wishing the action could erase the sick version of his brother imprinted on his mind.

Damon may be a monster, but he's never wanted _that_. And somehow he always manages to forget just how much Stefan _does_.

Bonnie doesn't bother to look hurt by his accusation, just smiles a little half-smile, cocking her head a degree. "You forget who helped save your life."

"Yea, yea, take a number," he grumbles. "So? Was that brilliant display of medieval torture worth anything to me?"

"I don't know..." Bonnie grows pensive again. "There are traces of magic attached to you... Some of it feels pretty ancient. And you do seem... _connected_ to something, I guess is the best way to describe it. But I can't tell if it has anything to do with the bite _or_ the cure."

"Well that does me a hell of a lot of good, thanks."

"I told you," she shrugs, "no guarantees. But Damon—" she calls after him as he starts to leave, "there's one thing I'm starting to learn about magic."

"Oh?" serves him right for coming to a newbie. "What's that?"

"It always has consequences."

* * *

><p>"Caroline, I <em>don't want you seeing him<em>."

"Ugh," Caroline groans. She's barely gotten in the door and they're having this fight. Again. "You sound like Damon two weeks ago."

"Then it's a good thing you have him around, after all," Liz says stubbornly.

"Mom," Caroline explains with forced patience. There are only so many times she can go through this. "Tyler isn't going to hurt me."

"He might not _want_ to, might not _mean_ to, but he can. He's always been a hothead, and now he can _kill_ you. Too easily."

There are times when having a parent in law enforcement really sucks. When they start to see all of your prospective boyfriends as potential perps is definitely one of those times.

"He needs my help, Mom," Caroline tries a different tack. "And I think I need his..." she adds quietly.

"You can't be this casual with your life, Caroline," Liz frowns.

The seemingly innocent comment sends a chill through Caroline. She _already_ lost her life—she's determined to _live_ her death, not hide in it.

But her Mom doesn't understand that. Liz blanches when she realizes what she's said, hurries to breeze past the more uncomfortable truths. "And Carol Lockwood is on the warpath," she stammers on as if they haven't missed a beat. "She already thinks I'm negligent at best—what if she finds out about you? I can't risk that."

Caroline narrows her eyes—she doesn't want to jump to the usual conclusion, but she had really hoped they'd moved past this pattern. But it's still all about _her_. Her job. Her reputation.

"_God_, Mom," Caroline snaps, "can't you see I'm just trying to be happy. In all of this _mess_ I'm just trying to have _one thing_ that is okay?"

She storms off to her room with vampire speed before she has to endure her mother's half-horrified, half-indignant answer.

She flops down on her bed in a huff, whipping out her phone.

_So the big bad Sheriff's forbidding me to see you_, she types.

Her phone dings in response a moment later.

_Old news. My mom told me a week ago I'm to have nothing to do with you or your mom._

Caroline bites her lip, contemplating just how needy she's willing to sound.

_What'd you say..?_

_That she could buzz off._

Caroline smiles to herself, settling into the pillows.

_Boys_.

* * *

><p>"It's no crazier than vampires, anyway," Jasper shrugs, closing his files as if the conclusions are self-evident.<p>

Though he could certainly correct the newest Fell nuisance on a few points, Damon hates to admit that most of what Jasper has found is relatively accurate.

"And what do suggest the Council does about it?" Damon walks to the cart to pour a fresh drink.

"Well there are a few protections we can develop, some precautions," Jasper muses. "But I think it's time we start being proactive," he adds with a glint that Damon instinctively does not like.

_All_ the thorns in his side have that same damn _glint_.

"We need to stop being _reactive_, only addressing a problem when it's too late—from what I can tell, werewolves are much easier to deal with as long as it isn't the full moon. We need to find them, and stop them."

You'd think the guy was trying to channel General Patton, the way he carries on.

"Well," Damon nods, takes a sip of scotch. "You've certainly given me a lot to think about…"

Jasper stands, recognizing the dismissal. He stops short, however, of actually leaving.

"There _was_ one other thing," he says slowly, looking over Damon appraisingly. The vampire can tell Jasper has been building to this the entire afternoon.

Too bad the guy really doesn't know when to play his cards close to the vest.

"Since I've been back in town, and having a better idea of what to look for," he goes on when Damon only raises an eyebrow, "my research has been taking me in some… _interesting_ directions."

"What directions are those?"

"The Lockwoods," and there's that glint again.

"That's—" Damon starts to scoff, but is rudely interrupted by the _click-click_ of stilettos in his entryway.

_Katherine_… he almost snarls the name aloud in surprised annoyance.

"Oh, hello," she purrs, strutting down into the parlor. "I'm _sorry_, Damon—I didn't realize you had company."

Damon knows full well she could have sensed Jasper's heartbeat a football field away.

"Elena Gilbert," Jasper smiles—smarmily, Damon thinks, "you probably don't remember me, but my sister used to babysit for you and your brother when you were kids."

"Oh… right, of course," Katherine shifts her demeanor ever so slightly, though Damon hopes Jasper doesn't remember Elena well because Katherine isn't winning any Oscars today.

"_Elena_," Damon grits out. "What're you doing here?"

Katherine pouts, pulling her attention away from Jasper, "I needed to talk to you," she says simply enough, though her eyes add '_now_.'

"Well," Jasper smiles again, "I'll just get out of your hair."

"Thank you for briefing me on these… developments," Damon shows him to the door. "I don't know how much stock I'd put in these Lockwood connections, though," he adds. He sort of hates it, but he knows there would probably be too many questions if they threw the suspicion back on Tyler. "A Founding Family…"

"Oh, I don't know…" Jasper grins, "you should read some of the things I've seen about _your_ family."

With that, Jasper turns on his heel, a disquietingly cheery wave his only other exiting signal.

Damon has Katherine pinned up against the far wall as soon as Jasper's footsteps hit gravel. "_What are you doing here_?" he repeats menacingly.

Katherine laughs, reverses their positions easily. "So _tense_," she clucks her tongue. "I guess that means Elena is still playing the loyal girlfriend act, then?"

Damon shrugs her off, stalking back to the center of the room. "What do you want?" he swirls the liquor in his abandoned glass. "I thought you'd be halfway to Timbuktu by now."

"I was," she swings her hips seductively as she walks towards him. There was a time it would have set his mouth watering. "Until I wasn't."

"Cute," Damon deadpans. "Are you going to zero in on a point, or should I get you a compass?"

"Don't play coy with me, Damon," Katherine is inches away now, smiling at him, but Damon has known her long enough to recognize something besides mischievous amusement in her eyes. "You've seen him too, haven't you?"

Damon fights to keep his face impassive. Surely not… _Surely. Not. _"Seen who?" he's going to _make_ her jump first.

"Stefan, of course," Katherine's voice is light, but her gaze is hardening. "It's been an interesting show so far, wouldn't you say? If it weren't for the blackouts and headaches, I might be looking forward to the next chapter…"

Oh, this is just _perfect_.

"Hold that thought," Damon says, inwardly grateful for the pause as his phone beeps with a new message.

"Oooh, is that our girl?" Katherine coos, looking over his shoulder.

"Not exactly…" Damon considers for a moment, and speeds out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Can I help you..?" Elena squints into the mid-afternoon sun framing the petite, stern-jawed woman on her doorstep.<p>

"Miss Gilbert, I presume?" the woman speaks in clipped tones. "I am looking for Miss Sommers, she missed our appointment."

A boulder falls into the put of Elena's stomach. "Jenna?" she struggles to make her brain function properly after so many days of _not_ thinking. "Jenna... She... She, uh..."

"She's gone missing," Alaric comes up behind her.

"Missing?" the woman's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shoot up on her high forehead. "And you didn't think this warranted reporting? Is Miss Sommers _often_ an absent guardian?"

Like a whip, Elena feels the first crack in her facade. "Of course not, she—"

"The Sheriff is aware of the situation," Alaric interjects smoothly.

This is, Elena supposes, _basically_ true.

"I see… so it's the police department who failed to inform social services of such a crucial development?"

"Social services?" Elena's mouth goes dry even as she feels Alaric tense behind her.

"Prudence Wheeler," the woman extends a bony hand, "your case worker."

Elena shakes it weakly.

"It seems we have much to discuss," Prudence purses her lips, stepping into the foyer without further invitation. "Is the young Mr. Gilbert home?"

"Um, yea... Jeremy!" Elena calls up the stairs distractedly.

"And forgive me," Prudence turns to Ric primly, "but I didn't catch your name."

"Alaric Saltzman," he extends his hand.

Prudence ignores the gesture, squinting up at him instead. "Saltzman? The history teacher at the high school?"

"One in the same," Alaric's attempt at a lopsided smile is lost on her. "I've been staying with the kids since Jenna disappeared," he adds under Prudence's uncomfortable stare.

Prudence's eyebrows go sky high. "Staying here? Are you sure that's entirely appropriate?"

Alaric bristles. "Jenna wa—" he corrects himself quickly, "_is_ my girlfriend, I've stayed here plenty of times."

"Ah—you're the 'Ric' she mentioned," Prudence makes a note on the file in her arms. "I didn't realize you were a _live-in_... I _see_..."

Alaric looks ready to say something when Jeremy comes bounding down the stairs. "What's up?"

"Jeremy, this is Ms. Wheeler from social services," Elena shoots him a look.

"Oh..." Jeremy swallows.

"Ms. Wheeler," Elena feels the deeply ingrained hostess habits start to kick in, "won't you come sit down?"

The little group files mechanically into the living room.

"Well, we will have to find a more suitable living situation until such time as Miss Sommers is... located," Prudence begins, rifling through her paperwork.

"What's wrong with this 'living situation'?" Elena fights the urge to cross her arms.

"It has no legal bearing, for one thing," Prudence states. "Where is your uncle? John Gilbert?"

Elena swallows hard, "He's missing, too..."

"I _see_..." Prudence makes another note. "Well I suppose we'll just have to make arrangements at the group home until—"

"Now hold on just one second," Alaric interrupts as Elena and Jeremy both sit up straighter. "There's no need to do that, they're just fine where they are."

"That may be so, but I alone cannot deem you a suitable guardian."

"Ric is plenty _suitable_," Jeremy grinds out. Elena shoots him another look, begging him to keep his temper in check.

"You may think so, dear," Prudence states, "but that isn't for you to decide."

"Jenna trusted him," Elena tries.

"Yes..." Prudence turns a few pages in her lap. "And Miss Sommers' trust has cumulatively earned you both a suicide attempt, two near-fatal knife crimes in this home, patchy grades, _deplorable_ school attendance records—shall I go on?"

"Don't talk about Jenna that way," Jeremy's hands are clenched into fists.

"These are just the facts, young man. And now, it appears, Miss Sommers' dereliction has sunk as far as abandonment."

"Jenna didn't abandon us, she—" Jeremy starts, but snaps his mouth shut at a quelling look from Alaric.

"Be that as it may, I cannot allow you to remain here unsupervised," Prudence seems to be taking a perverse pleasure in this fight, as though it's the most excitement she's seen in years.

"I'll be 18 next month," Elena feels like she's grasping at straws, but lately her life is little more than a game of pick-up sticks anyway.

"Indeed," Prudence nods. "But emancipation for the interim is not a quick process. And even once you turn 18, I cannot say that I could conscionably recommend you as Jeremy's guardian."

"She's my _sister_," Jeremy sputters.

"From what I understand, she's technically your cousin," Prudence notes.

Elena's nostrils flare as the tendrils of anger worm their way past the grief and worry she's barely been keeping at bay. It almost feels like energy—deep, corrosive energy. But it's sitting too close to fear to sustain her long.

"Wait," Alaric says suddenly, and Elena can practically see the light bulb over his head. "If you want to see it that way, then Elena is my step-daughter."

They finally seem to have caught Prudence off-guard. "Oh? How's that?"

"Alaric was married to my birthmother," Elena explains triumphantly, "Isobel."

Elena's satisfaction doesn't last long. "Oh yes," Prudence turns to a paper deep in her file. "She disappeared as well, I understand? Tell me, Mr. Saltzman, have _all_ the women in your life met such mysterious ends?"

Alaric looks as though he's ready to hit something—or someone. "I'm sorry if our lives don't conform to your high standards, but I care about Jeremy and Elena, Ms. Wheeler, and I wouldn't let anything happen to them."

"Let's say I believe you," Prudence allows, "how do you propose to care for two teenagers on your salary alone? Grayson and Miranda Gilbert's estate was never clearly settled, and I'm afraid with Elena and Jeremy both underage, and Miss Sommers _and_ Mr. John Gilbert missing, the assets will be tied up for some time."

"That won't be an issue," Alaric grits out.

"Won't it?"

The situation is rapidly spinning out of control, and Elena is starting to feel light-headed under the weight of this new snag on top of the problems she's spent all week trying to ignore.

"Please," Elena breathes, "just give us a little time to figure this out. _Please_."

She knows it's not much of an argument, but an earnest plea and too-bright eyes are all she has.

"I am just trying to do what is best for you, Miss Gilbert," Prudence folds her hands in her lap. "_But_, considering the highly unusual nature of this case, I will need to consult with my superiors—and, apparently, with Sheriff Forbes. This will give you a few hours, perhaps until tomorrow."

"Thank you," Elena manages.

"Do not thank me for that," Prudence gathers the papers in her lap, standing. "I would rather have you leave with me now, but there is procedure. You have lost your parents, Miss Gilbert; their primary concern in life was for their children. It is my job to speak for them when they are no longer able."

"What makes you think you'd know what they want?" Jeremy mutters angrily, stomping up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

Alaric follows Prudence out in stony silence, but Elena remains rooted to her seat, mind spinning.

_Water_. She needs a glass of water, and she'll feel better.

Elena walks in a daze to the kitchen. What _would_ her parents want? What would they say if they could see the drastic turns her life has taken? She wishes she could still be their little girl, who looked to them for all the answers.

She _misses_ them.

It's an ever-present hole, but she hasn't really _thought_ about it in a while. Other hurts are more fresh, more immediate—take more energy to suppress.

She wasn't prepared—wasn't expecting to let the old ones slip through.

They spent so much time together in this kitchen—before she decided she didn't need them anymore.

How _wrong_ she was.

Walking over to the sink, Elena can almost _smell_ her mother's perfume, _hear_ her father's laugh. It's so _strong_, just for a moment.

Alaric finds her there, gripping onto the counter with all her strength, knees week and breath shallow.

"Elena..?"

She shakes her head, willing herself to hold it together, desperately fighting back the tears.

"Elena..." his voice is gentle, the hand on her shoulder kind, if hesitant. She'd look at him but her eyes are screwed up tight. She'd say something, but she can't speak past the lump in her throat or the tremble in her chin.

"We'll figure it out..."

Elena tries to nod again, doesn't want to do this now, doesn't want to put this on him—but perhaps her body has been running on autopilot for so long that it's no longer interested in what her brain has to say. She collapses into him, unable to stop the sobs from welling up in her chest, escaping in choked, painful gasps.

Alaric pats her back awkwardly, and she distantly registers the phone he pulls from his pocket, the message he quickly types.

She thinks—if she is doing anything _close_ to thinking—that it doesn't matter who's holding her up right now, doesn't matter who holds her together. She just can't do it herself, and Ric is trying—he stood up for them, he stood up to that _woman_...

She thinks this is something—it's not quite right, but it's _something_... Until she realizes she's being shifted away into arms that, for the briefest of moments, somehow make everything okay.

"Shhhh..." Damon whispers in her ear.

Elena just breathes, and holds on tighter.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this is a little later than intended – this chapter was fighting back a little bit, but I'm just going to give in and get it out the door. Hopefully it was still enjoyable – do let me know what you're thinking, and thanks again for reading!**


	6. You Want to Feel How it Feels

**Author's Note: Whoa nelly, this one was a doozy to write – hopefully it paid off, at least a little bit… :)**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six: You Want to Feel How it Feels<strong>_

* * *

><p>Elena sits up suddenly, blinking as her eyes adjust to the unexpected darkness. She doesn't really remember falling asleep, but the inky blackness outside her window and the familiar duvet under her fingers are filling in the blanks.<p>

Her hand flies to her chest as the soft glow of her dresser lamp illuminates the room, revealing Damon sitting on her windowseat.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he says quietly, standing and offering her a mug. She accepts it gratefully as he selects a spot on the edge of her bed—on the far edge, she notes.

What dance are they doing now?

The tea is lukewarm, but it still feels good as it slides down her aching throat. "What time is it?" she manages, wincing at her scratchy tones.

"Two…" he squints at his watch, "…thirty-seven."

Elena raises her eyebrows, surprised. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Nine hours, give or take… You haven't been sleeping well lately, have you?"

Elena can't meet his gaze but she shakes her head, rubbing at her swollen, puffy eyes with a sigh. "I'm sorry… for..." she mumbles, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the fresh memory of sobbing until there was nothing left in her rushes back with a vengeance. "I guess it all just… caught up with me."

"It's nothing to apologize for," Damon murmurs, looking down at his hands.

Hands that held onto her. Anchored her.

She looks away, sees a picture of Stefan on her nightstand—happy, smiling. It sends a sickening little jolt through her stomach.

"Why are you being so nice?" she allows herself a little half-smile, tries for a playful tone. Anything to make this not so very serious—she can't handle serious just yet.

"_Me_?" he takes the bait, flashing his trademark eye thing. "I'm always nice."

"No you're not," she chides him with a gentle grin.

"No," he agrees slowly, more solemn again, "I'm not."

Something in his eyes reminds Elena of another night, only a few days past but it feels like an eon ago. He said he loved her…

But she already knew that, didn't she?

And now…? Now she's starting to actually _understand_that. It isn't what she expected. It isn't what she assumed...

"Thank you for being here," she meets his eyes.

"Of course…"

And she knows he means it—and this makes her feel like she's taking terrible advantage. But she doesn't want him to leave. _Can't_let him leave her, too.

She swipes at her eyes again, mad at herself, even if she knows on some level that it's irrational, that they've been through a lot, that she's lost too many people not to have it affect her. But she cant help it—she's mad that she got so upset over things she can't change, mad that she let herself retreat into a little cocoon instead of focusing on finding Stefan, on helping her friends... Angry at her heart for confusing her head.

As always, Damon sees right through her. "You shouldn't beat yourself up," he leans forward, elbows on his knees as he considers her carefully. She can see him consciously shift his demeanor, become the guy she needs him to be right now. The one who's sarcastic and unphased and ne'er do well. How does he always know..? "I almost had a conniption dealing with that woman myself," he adds, just hitting on the tip of Elena's mental iceberg.

"Ms. Wheeler!" she remembers abruptly. "Our case worker, she—"

Damon holds up a hand. "I know, Ric filled me in. That woman needs a good lay, if you ask me…"

He looks relieved when this earns him a small chuckle. Has she really been so far gone?

"So she came back..?" Elena bites her lip.

"Oh, she came back alright… Total buzz kill, that one. Made me doubt my seriously well-honed skills. All, _'Mr. Salvatore I really don't think that's appropriate,'_" he adopts her stern, pitched voice, "and _'my only concern is for their safety and mental health.'_As if she knew the first thing..." he shakes his head with a dark expression.

"So?" Elena feels her stomach tightening. "What did you do?"

"Well _I_wanted to compel her—" Damon starts, smirks at the mildly horrified, apprehensive expression Elena is now wearing. "But the good teacher talked me out of it."

Elena lets out a small sigh of relief—that solution would have been asking for trouble, she's sure. "And instead?" she asks.

"It turns out I have _other_capabilities at my disposal…" Damon says somewhat cryptically.

"Oh?" Elena is far from sure what this means.

"Well, Miss Gilbert, it seems you are in the presence of one of Mystic Falls' favored sons," he leans towards her, tilts a lopsided grin. "I'd rather forgotten what that felt like," he adds, almost wistfully.

"I suppose I should thank you for using your powers for good," she nudges his shoulder.

They're _good_like this.

Elena still doesn't feel like herself—feels a long way off, in fact—but this is the first time in a week that she's _wanted_to feel like herself again.

"I talked to Liz," he explains, "who I think is ready to be my little buddy again—you fickle women and your ever-changing minds..." Elena catches the little twinkle there. "She wasn't about to send you off into 'the system'—which apparently spans five counties, mind you, and comes with an easily tracked paper trail—where God knows what could go bump in the night."

"Five counties?" Elena repeats, more fixated on how far she and Jeremy could be flung than Damon's more practical concerns.

Of course, if that twitch in his jaw is any indication...

"I don't know if you noticed, Elena, but this town of ours is pretty small," he teases her, launching back into his story. "Anyhow, our intrepid Sheriff couldn't exactly share her fears without raising further suspicion, but she did vouch for Alaric's and my good judgment, and claimed she had no reason to suspect Alaric of any crime or ill-will towards you," he takes a breath. "Of course, this wasn't good enough for Miss Knickers-in-a-Twist, and she insisted we appeal to local government. I don't think she was expecting me to march her straight into the mayor's office..."

"You didn't," Elena breathes.

"It was almost too much fun," Damon smiles smugly. "Unfortunately, Carol remembered how much her late husband didn't care for Ric, but she did assure Ms. Wheeler that you and Jeremy couldn't be safer than you would be with me. And she also pointed to what she always perceived as strong, _cordial_relationship between John and I," he laughs lowly, "she even hinted that John would've wanted me to look out for you two should anything happen to him—heaven help that woman's lying lips..." Damon grins, the cat that caught the canary.

"And that convinced Ms. Wheeler?" Elena finds this hard to believe. "We won't be forced to go? To split up..?"

"Dear Prudence condescended to leaving your well-being at my discretion," he smirks. "_For now_…"

Elena has to laugh at this, relief and amused incredulity bubbling over.

"She won't leave it there," Damon warns Elena, more seriously. "Her face was the color of an overripe tomato by the time we left City Hall—and I think her parting words were something to the effect of _'you may have friends in high places, but you aren't above my review,'_" he imitates her pinched expression before his blue eyes darken a shade. "I'm sure it won't take her long to discover I'm officially listed as Stefan's guardian as well..."

Elena's heart hurts at the way Damon speaks his brother's name.

"And if she starts digging too deeply..." Damon's mouth twists, his gaze reaching far beyond her bedroom.

"Thank you," she tries to smile. It's all she can say.

"We'll see what they try to do next," Damon shrugs. "But until then, we have other things to worry about."

Elena nods, wishing they weren't taking the train back to the harder edges of reality quite so soon. "How are we going to find him?" she whispers into the silence. "Stop him, before..." her stomach turns, thinking about that newspaper article. The Stefan she knows... It's hard to fathom.

"We'll find him," Damon affirms succinctly. "And I will personally drag his blood-addled ass home."

"But how?" Elena persists. Damon doesn't offer any response, but she reads the look on his face too easily. "There's something you're not saying," she swallows, "something new."

Damon doesn't bother to deny it, but his lips stay firmly closed.

"Damon..." she says, a warning in her tone. She doesn't want to be kept in the dark—she's been doing enough of that to herself lately.

"It'll keep," he says at last, standing. "You should get some rest."

"I don't need rest," she sits forward. "I need you to be honest with me."

He looks down at her, sorrow and uncertainty radiating in the air between them.

He shakes his head, "In the morning."

"_Now_," she counters, reaches out to grab his hand. "Whatever it is you can tell me."

"Elena," he swallows, and she knows he's going to refuse her again. "Elena, I—"

Damon breaks off suddenly, fingers flying out of her grip and to his temple with a grimace.

"Damon?" she frowns, concerned. "Are you—?"

But she never gets to finish her question, his sudden collapse on the floor being all the answer she needs.

"Damon?" she shakes his shoulders. "Damon?" she cries again, her heartbeat speeding up in her chest.

But he just lies there, motionless, oblivious to her frantic pleas.

* * *

><p>"You didn't tell me she was alive..." Klaus is saying, far too calmly. "Care to offer an explanation?"<p>

Stefan has been waiting for this since the moment Klaus first discovered Elena hadn't permanently died during the sacrifice the day before.

Though his ire had been clear enough, Klaus hadn't stopped to question Stefan until now. The waiting, the imagining what might happen, was almost worse.

Stefan suspects Klaus knows that.

"I _said_," Klaus twirls something in his hand slowly, "I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself. I suggest you take it."

Stefan stares straight ahead. His brain is screaming _blood_ and _release_ and _kill_, but there's some little piece of him that can draw up an image of Elena as clear as day every time the Original so much as references her. The emotions are just all so... clouded. Muddled.

Klaus clucks his tongue, and the stake is in Stefan's chest before he even has a chance to blink.

"You're growing dangerously close to disappointment, Stefan," Klaus whispers beside his ear, thrusting the little shaft of wood an inch deeper. The searing agony of it tells Stefan that it's drenched in vervain. "I thought you understood the value of a gentleman's agreement."

Stefan refuses to gasp out, drinks in the pain instead. These moments, hanging a millimeter away from death, this is when the world comes into focus again. He remembers that now...

This is when he knows what he deserves.

"What will you do to her?" Stefan manages to say, the blood gurgling in his mouth.

Klaus hisses, long and low. "Still care then, do we?" he releases Stefan, and watches as he sinks slowly to his knees.

"That is, I suppose, the silver lining of this otherwise unfortunate incident," Klaus continues, pacing a narrow berth where Stefan kneels on the dusty earth. "Here I was thinking your dear, nearly departed brother was the only real nugget of leverage I had to keep you in line. But now," he smiles, the menace clear, "I have the crown jewel."

Stefan knows better by now than to say anything.

"So," Klaus pulls the stake out with a flourish, "I won't do anything to her, yet."

"Nothing?" Stefan asks, breathing hard.

"Well, I'll continue to poke about," Klaus shrugs, that enigmatic grin still shining. "Keep them on their toes... But they can't hurt me, not now that the curse is broken, and there's not a soul around to challenge me."

Stefan watches from the ground as Klaus' eyes take on that yellow gleam, glinting out of the gloom. "I'll simply scare them, yes, scare her," he leans down in Stefan's face. "But all that changes, if you betray me again."

Klaus is gone in the faintest brush of wind, and for a moment Stefan thinks he's been left alone.

But of course, that's when his tormentor returns—a young woman held at arm's length. All Stefan can hear or smell is her blood—he can practically _see_it, taste it on his tongue. The still gaping hole in his chest says he needs it.

But he also _wants_it.

"Go ahead," Klaus thrusts her forward. "Drink up. We have work to do."

Stefan looks up at the woman, feels himself drowning in the fear shining through her eyes. He was lost before he even began.

By the time his teeth close around her neck, the clarity is gone.

Only the blood remains.

* * *

><p><em>"How're you supposed to revive someone that doesn't even have a pulse?"<em>

"I think I should call Bonnie..."

"No... Wait, he's... Damon? Damon can you hear me?"

As if waking up prostrate on a teenage girl's floor isn't bad enough, hearing Alaric, Jeremy, and Elena talk in hushed, anxious tones over you is enough to make head-splitting visions of your manic brother seem almost preferable.

"Damon?" Elena's voice is gentle as he blinks once, twice, groans low in his throat. He guesses this is when he's supposed to think she looks like an angel, framed in his blurry vision.

She just looks scared. And he hates that, for so many reasons.

He tries to sit up, but she presses him back with a trembling hand. "I'm fine," he grunts.

"You collapsed," Jeremy points out from somewhere above him.

Damon sighs. "I can explain..." Well, he can half-explain... Though he hadn't really wanted to—not like this, anyway.

"Start," Alaric's arms are crossed, but there's too much worry in his face for the tough-guy routine to carry much weight.

Damon nods slightly to Elena, who relents enough to let him sit up against the end of her bed. He tries to hide how woozy this makes him, but he thinks she can tell.

His chest constricts when he sees that she rolled up his sleeve where the werewolf bite once festered, but there's only the little webbed scar left as a reminder. Damon holds her gaze for a moment, trying to reassure her silently before turning back to the group at large.

"You're not going to believe me," he shakes his head.

"Try us," Alaric tosses Damon a bag of blood and hands over a bottle of Jenna's old bourbon.

Damon drains the bag and nurses a long swig from the bottle, relishing the burst of electricity in his nerves. "Which do you want first, the bad news, or the certifiably insane news?"

"Bad news…?" Jeremy looks at them all askance.

Damon lets out a deep breath. "Katherine's back."

Elena physically jerks backward as Alaric and Jeremy exchange a look. "_Why_?" is all the teacher can articulate.

"Well… that's where the whole send me to the madhouse part comes in…"

Elena is still kneeling beside him, watching him closely.

"I've sort of been… seeing things," he admits, not looking at her. "And so has Katherine."

"What kinds of things…?" Jeremy asks, a bit too quickly.

The images flash by in rapid succession. "Stefan kinds, mostly."

He pretends he can't hear as Elena's heart skips a beat.

"For how long?" she asks quietly.

"Ever since he left," Damon's tone is low. "It was just little flashes at first, half-dreams—nothing. But it's gotten more… vivid. And now," he gestures around, unnecessarily.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he doesn't like the hurt look on her face, how small her voice has become.

He wishes Ric and Jeremy would leave—even just for a second.

Damon speaks softly, directly to her. "I didn't know if I was losing my mind, or if any of it was even real—still don't, I guess. And you…" he searches for the right words, not something he's used to, "you were—I couldn't…"

Elena takes a deep, shuddering breath, looking away.

"So you think these are… what? Visions?" Alaric frowns.

Damon shakes his head, "I don't know—maybe."

"How is that even possible?" the teacher persists, ever the rational one.

"I don't know."

"And what else does Katherine say?"

"I don't know…"

"You didn't ask her?" Alaric raises an eyebrow.

"I've been here," Damon says simply, sees Elena's mouth open slightly, stricken if not exactly softened.

"And you see Stefan?" she whispers. "How does… how does he seem?"

Damon fixes her with a sad stare. "Do you want me to sugar-coat it?"

Elena shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek.

"It's not just him, but… He doesn't seem good."

This last vision was the clearest so far, but it's all fuzzy around the edges. He walks them through as much as he can remember. "One thing is clear enough," he finishes, "Klaus is going to make our lives a living hell."

Katherine confirms as much a few hours later, the whole miserable gang yawning in the Boarding House parlor.

"What I don't understand is how," Caroline frowns, "or why."

"That's because you lack imagination," Katherine tosses off. "It's obvious—we're seeing all of this through Klaus' eyes, and Damon and I only share one connection to that sadistic halfbreed."

"If you say one more thing about your _love_for Stefan," Damon whines, running a hand through his hair.

"Actually," Katherine glares at him, "I was going to say that disgusting little aperitif of a cure," her expression shifts as her head tilts with a smirk, "but your way works too."

"What did _you_need the cure for?" Tyler speaks up.

"For a werewolf bite," Katherine speaks slowly as if talking to a child. Damon doesn't miss the way Caroline glowers at the older vampire, but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

"I was the demonstration piece," she shrugs, folding herself gracefully onto the couch, "the selling point, if you will, to convince Stefan of the cure's veracity. Klaus bit me, and fed me his blood—prest-o, change-o..."

"How does the connection work?" Bonnie pipes up. Damon can see the tension radiating off of the witch from clear across the room.

But then, Katherine has that effect on people.

"You can't expect me to have all the answers," Katherine picks at her thumbnail, seemingly bored.

Damon doesn't think for a second that she won't have a few beans left to spill. He's leaning over her in a burst of speed, enjoys the rush of adrenaline that comes with the sudden move, the sudden lack of air in the room.

Bending down, an arm braced on either side of her head, Damon wishes he was better at reading Katherine's eyes—so like Elena's on the surface, but an infinitely shifting mystery underneath. She blinks up at him, challenging.

"You're going to help us get Stefan back," he states, brooks no argument.

Katherine blinks again, and grins.

* * *

><p>Jeremy clears his place sullenly as Alaric downs the last of his beer. "I'm surprised Katherine hasn't split yet," he tries to make conversation.<p>

It's a long moment before Jeremy replies, running the tap over the dirty dishes. "I think she's scared," he says at last.

Alaric quirks his head at this—if there is one thing Katherine Pierce has never seemed to him, it's scared. "What makes you say that?"

Jeremy just shrugs, sets to wiping the plates clean.

The kid hasn't said much since they returned from the Boarding House—of course, Alaric doubts anyone would take it well when their girlfriend asks them to leave. Even if Bonnie's excuses that it had been a long day, that she just wanted to try a few more spells before calling it a draw were all perfectly valid, having her turn him away has obviously cut Jeremy to the quick.

It's hard to feel useless, not to mention unwanted, unneeded. Alaric understands this from personal experience.

"Did Elena say when she was coming back?" Jeremy changes the subject.

"I don't know," Alaric clears his own dishes, "she wanted to be there if Damon saw anything else…" Alaric suspects there's more to it than that, but he keeps this to himself.

Jeremy lets out a forceful breath, scrubbing at a pot with renewed vigor.

"So now that two of the most badass vampires you know are seeing things, does that mean you'll rethink sharing your little pop-ins with the resident Casper brigade?" Alaric cuts to what he's really wanted to ask.

"Why should I?" Jeremy dries his hands on a towel, looking like he wanted something more to distract himself with.

"Jeremy…" Alaric frowns. "In our little corner of the world, you can't keep these things to yourself—it might be important."

"I told _you_, didn't I?"

"I don't know what else to do," Alaric sighs. "Ghostbusting isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"What Damon and Katherine…" Jeremy grits his teeth, head tossed back in a momentary fit of frustration. "What they're seeing—it's _real_, it's helpful, it even has something almost like a logical explanation. I have _no idea_ what I'm seeing, or why."

"Jeremy, you _have_ to—"

"No, I don't!" Jeremy pushes off the counter, pacing in front of the oven. "No one else needs to know what I'm seeing because no one will _understand_—no one will be able to tell me why I'm seeing two people who I used to care about, _a lot_—why I thought I'd never see them again, had finally started to try and move on, just to have them show up again—why every time they disappear, I feel like I'm losing them all over again," he pauses to take a breath, steadying the rising pitch of his voice. "I don't want to tell anyone, because they might figure out a way to make Anna and Vicki go away, and then they'll _really_ be gone," he adds in a whisper.

Alaric swallows hard, turns away so that Jeremy can collect himself, hide the flush creeping up his neck. "I understand, Jeremy," he says at last, "I don't know _what_ I would do if I could see Jenna again… But I'd need to figure out why she was here. Anna and Vicki aren't just around to keep you company."

"Why not?" Jeremy counters. "Why can't they—" he starts to argue, but is cut off by a sudden crash from upstairs.

"What was that?" Alaric looks nervously at the ceiling, pulling a wooden spoon out of a drawer.

"I don't know… Do you think—?"

_"Ollie ollie oxen free!"_ a voice calls out with a chilling peal of laughter.

Alaric sees the movement outside the window at the last second. "Jeremy, _duck_!" he cries, wrenching the teenager down to the floor just as the glass shatters over their heads.

_"Come out, come out, wherever you are..!"_ the voice calls again, taunting. _"We just want to have a little_ fun_…"_

"Jeremy," Alaric grabs him by the collar. "_Run_."

The boy does as he's told, launching forward in a crouched sprint towards the front door. Alaric follows suit in the opposite direction, hoping at least one of them will make it to the car.

Another pane of glass shatters behind him as he runs around the side of the house, jumping into his car just as Jeremy shuts the passenger door. Alaric drives like a bat out of hell, lurching forward as his rear windshield shatters onto the pavement.

"_Damon_," he grits into the phone as soon as the vampire picks up. "Still up to having a few extra houseguests?"

* * *

><p>Damon looks up from the book he wasn't really reading when he senses a change on the air—still, he wasn't exactly expecting to find Elena standing in his doorway.<p>

At three o'clock in the morning.

Having so many warm bodies in the house is throwing off his senses…

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he drawls.

Elena shifts back and forth on her feet, saying nothing.

"Is something wrong?" he places the old copy of _Mutiny on the Bounty_ aside.

She shakes her head. "Can I come in?" she asks quietly, still staring intently at the floor.

"Be my guest," he lets out a breath, unsure of where this is going—he's already had enough headaches today.

Elena perches on the edge of his bed, facing him. "Couldn't you sleep either?" she nods at the book.

"Sleep is overrated," he shrugs.

She nods, looks around self-consciously. It occurs to Damon that this is the first time she's been in his room since the night he almost died—the night Stefan left them, left _her_, in a swan song of all his chivalrous acts. Since the night she…

No, he can't dwell on that.

But now she's back, and in his _bed_, no less.

"You should have told me what was happening," she looks at her fingers, twisted over themselves.

"I know you think that," he says. It's really too late for a lecture.

"You should have told me," she repeats.

Damon sighs deeply. "Maybe," he allows. "But I just couldn't… I'm sorry."

She takes a deep breath. "I want you to tell me what you've seen—what you were leaving out today," she chooses this moment to look him in the eye.

"I've told you everything you need to know," Damon refuses. She doesn't need these images in her mind.

"But I _need_ to know how Stefan really is," she speaks with a quiet urgency.

"The Stefan you're looking for isn't there right now," he tries to soften the harsh words. Fails.

"I don't _understand_," she's biting her lip now, anguish in every line of her body. "How can he do these things? How can he be the person that does these things?"

Damon shakes his head. "He's two sides of the same coin, Elena," he searches for the right metaphor. "Where most of us exist somewhere in the middle of that coin, brushing past heads or tails once in a long while, Stefan doesn't know _how_ to live in that gray area—he can't keep the balance long enough before the scales tip."

"I'm not giving up on him," she almost whispers, but her voice is strong.

"Neither am I," Damon says firmly. "Which is why I'm leaving in the morning," he articulates a decision that, in truth, he made as soon as he 'saw' Klaus drive the stake into his brother's chest.

"What?" Elena sits up straighter.

"I'm going to find him," Damon stares her down. "I will scour every _inch_ of the Sunshine State until I do."

"You _can't_," she declares vehemently.

"I can, and I'm going to."

"You can't," she repeats. "Stefan sacrificed himself to save you, don't betray that gift by running off and getting yourself killed."

"You don't have to remind me what Stefan did," Damon grits out. "I know _exactly_ what he did—that's _why_ I have to do this."

He can't sit here any longer, seeing the horrors unfurl in his mind, only to wake to these sad, suffering brown eyes in front of him.

"You don't have to do it alone," she reaches forward, places a hand on his leg. "You don't have to do it without a plan. _Please_," her breathing is coming faster, "be smart about this."

He looks to where her hand holds onto him urgently, returns his gaze to her eyes as she pulls away her hand self-consciously. "_Please_," she repeats.

And so help him, he can't say no to her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Let me know what you're thinking!**


	7. Let Me at the Truth

**Author's Note: Here we are again – things are moving along apace..! Enjoy!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Seven: Let Me at the Truth<strong>_

* * *

><p>Caroline creeps down the stairs as silently as she can. Mrs. Lockwood is talking with someone in the kitchen, but Caroline thinks she can steal out the front door before anyone notices.<p>

She really wishes, though, that if she's going to be forced to do the walk of shame, it could've actually been _worth_ something.

But _no_, she sighs, she just fell _asleep_ in Tyler's bed—and they weren't even _doing_ _anything_. All shop talk—doom and gloom here, impossible task there… They're dawdling too long in familiar old platonic territory and Caroline is starting to feel restless.

Why can't he just make a move, already?

Though, waking up with Tyler's arm wrapped around her was a nice enough surprise—even if he was drooling on her shoulder, too.

"_Well_, that can't be little Caroline Forbes," a vaguely familiar voice marvels from behind her. Caroline inwardly curses herself for getting distracted and not noticing the man's approach.

If there were such a thing as vampire university, she'd be in remedial classes and hiring a tutor by now…

She turns slowly, puts on a bashful smile to match her blush. "Mr. Fell," she says, genuinely surprised. She knew he was back in town, of course, but she wouldn't have expected him at the Lockwood's at half past six in the morning.

"I'm surprised to see you here, the way Carol's been going on," he grins at her, shifting some bound leather tomes under his arm.

"I can explain…" Caroline lowers her chin, bats her eyelashes, dips an ankle—the whole nine, well-practiced yards.

"No need," he raises a hand, winks at her. "It'll just be our little secret…"

She never knew Jasper Fell as well as Logan, but there was a time when the cousins had battled for supremacy in her junior high notebook doodling. Qualities she had once found charming and worldly, though, now sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up.

He shifts the books again, and Caroline catches a glimpse of one of the spines. "Are those the Lockwood journals?" she blurts out.

"Good eye," he smiles widely. "I've just been doing a little research lately," he holds the front door open for her, "I find the past can be very illuminating… don't you?"

Jasper grins at her again, before turning, light-footed down the front steps. Caroline stares after him, a chill dread running down her spine.

* * *

><p>"You're cooking?" Elena is wearing a surprised smile when Damon turns away from the stove towards her. She's standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wrapped up in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts, hair disheveled, dark circles under her eyes—and still, Damon has never seen anyone more beautiful.<p>

Which just makes it that much harder to stay angry with her for keeping him from going after Stefan, for _expecting_ him to be here—for thinking she can play this tug of war without consequences, for needing him to play the hero.

He doesn't think he's very good at it.

"There's a reason it's called a 'Boarding House,' you know," Damon says as he spoons scrambled eggs into a bowl. "My mother always taught me to be the dutiful host..." he trails off, wondering if that sounded as bitter out loud as it did in his head.

"Thank you for letting us stay with you," is Elena's quiet response as she sidles onto a barstool.

Damon just nods, passing her a plate of bacon. It's not as though he doesn't _like_ having her here, but on some level it's torture. Slow death by toothpick kind of torture. It was bad enough when she was here all the time with Stefan, when he could hear them—and hear _whatever_ they were doing—no matter where they were in the house.

But now Stefan isn't here, and where Damon might normally tease her or take advantage, he can't—because he's never going to forget the reason for his brother's absence.

Besides, if ever he starts to feel himself slip, these confounding glimpses into Klaus' mind function like some sort of Pavlovian punishment. Though really, all Damon has to do is glimpse the sadness behind Elena's eyes and he's back to playing the dependable brother.

And it's killing him.

"Something smells good," Alaric wanders into the kitchen.

"Are you kidding?" Jeremy is right behind him. "Something smells _awesome_."

"The Salvatore bed and breakfast at your service," Damon drawls, setting toast and marmalade on the counter.

"When's the lawyer coming?" Alaric asks around a mouthful of home fries.

"Ten," Damon supplies. "He seemed a little surprised that we were signing the deed over again so soon," he adds. "Thank God Zach picked an attorney who doesn't ask too many questions..."

"And then we can go back to the house?" Jeremy asks, as though Damon didn't want to go investigate as soon as Ric had called last night—but he wasn't about to leave Elena alone. Or with Katherine...

"Yes," Damon forces patience, "then we can go look for signs of your mysterious houseguests."

"I wish I had actually _seen_ something," Alaric berates himself, "but they were moving too fast."

"Vampire fast?" Damon's brow furrows.

Alaric shrugs, "could be."

"I thought you said in your... vision, or whatever," Jeremy looks slightly embarrassed, "that Klaus wasn't planning on coming after us."

"I _think_ he said he wasn't planning on offing dear Elena here," Damon spears an apple with a knife, "sort of a big distinction."

"So you think this was him? Klaus?" Elena's voice still doesn't have the strength that he's used to. He'd gotten so used to her implacable fire—no matter what boneheaded decision it led her to—that he's starting to wonder when he'll get to see it again. _If_ he'll get to see it again.

"Probably one of his little gremlins," Damon shrugs. "He wants you to be scared, he wants Stefan to obey, and he _doesn't_ know we have the inside line on his evil plan," Damon grimaces, "or at least part of his evil plan..."

He really wishes he knew what Klaus was up to—building a new hybrid race and turning his brother into the worst version of himself certainly fits the crazy sadist profile, but isn't much to go on.

"Well isn't this a cozy little scene," Katherine struts in, looking like she just stepped out of a nightclub. It's times like these that the contrast between vampire and doppelganger has never been clearer. "An adorable family portrait," she holds up her fingers like a camera frame, "maybe a little unconventional... But who cares what the haters say, I'd want two daddies too, if they looked like the pair of you."

Katherine smiles mischievously, running a finger along Alaric's shoulder blades as she walks by. To his credit, the teacher doesn't shudder. Much.

"Give it a rest, Katherine," Damon stops her from reaching into the fridge. "And find your own food."

"Oh," Katherine pouts, "but when I do my own foraging you don't like the results... _Very messy..._"

Damon grits his teeth, acutely aware that all eyes are on him—and Elena's are a little wider than the rest. "Fine," he grumbles, reaching for a bloodbag. "But you can do the next Bank run..."

Katherine smiles smugly, perching herself on the counter.

"I think that's enough talk of bodily fluids for me," Alaric grimaces, taking his plate as he heads to the door. "I'll be upstairs until the lawyer arrives."

"Me too," Jeremy stands abruptly, "I, uh, I want to call Bonnie anyway..."

"I hope they didn't run away on my account," Katherine says, thought she looks positively gleeful. "_So_. I guess it's just the three of us," she sighs, looking between him and Elena. "When was the last time _that_ happened? Let me think... _Oh yes_," she brightens, as though she wasn't aiming this very torpedo all along, "it was just the other night, when—"

"We know when it was, Katherine," Damon won't be looking at Elena for the remainder of this conversation.

"Really?" she scoots off the counter, walking closer to him. "I thought maybe you were suffering from amnesia, or surely you would have had Elena back in your bed by now. She seemed so _willing_ before."

Damon might not be looking at Elena, but he can hear how fast her heartbeat has gotten. "She isn't you, Katherine," he forces himself to smile, albeit maliciously.

"Hmmm," Katherine smiles back, taking the apple he's still holding and stealing a bite. "We'll see about that..."

Elena's face is still ashen when she puts her plate in the sink a few minutes later. Damon slams his knife into the chopping block as she leaves, watching it quiver silently in place.

* * *

><p><p>

Elena gingerly picks the brick up from amongst the shattered glass, already knowing what she will find. Just like half the downstairs windows, her bedroom panes have been broken with a picture of her and someone she cares about.

She carefully removes the image tied to this particular brick—one of her and Stefan swaying to the music at the first decade dance. It isn't the use of the photos so much that bothers her, but wondering how Klaus and his minions came to possess them, or how they knew which ones would hurt her most.

She can't help but think that Stefan would be the one to know the quickest path to breaking her heart, if he chose to take it.

"I think this is all of them," Damon enters her room cautiously, handing her a small stack of crumpled photographs.

Elena nods, takes them, shuffling through the little pieces of memory. Her parents, Jenna, John, even the one of Isobel in her cheerleading uniform... Looking around her room, at the shards of glass scattered at her feet, she wonders if she'll ever find a place not so haunted by loss. Even staying at the Boarding House, she can't turn a corner without some visage of Stefan dogging her steps.

Though he, at least, isn't gone forever—not yet. She has to remember that...

"Thank you," she remembers to say when Damon starts to leave.

His head bobs in a brief nod. "You should pack some things," he adds at the doorway, "Alaric and I will finish boarding up the windows downstairs."

Elena looks down at the photographs, at everything she can never make right again, swallows heavily. "Wait," she calls out, before she can change her mind.

Damon reappears, the question in his eyes.

"What Katherine said this morning..." Elena starts uncertainly.

There's an unreadable flicker in Damon's features before he smoothes them out again. "I wouldn't pay much attention to what Katherine says," he dismisses, "don't let her get inside your head—she makes it awfully crowded, trust me."

"I can't just ignore it completely," Elena steels herself, remembers to breathe, "we never talked about what happened... that night."

"And we don't need to," Damon says firmly, his blue eyes shifting from morning mists to stormy seas.

"Don't we?"

"I was dying, you felt sorry for me, end of sad little story," he crosses his arms. "You don't have to worry, I won't be expecting anything different."

Elena feels her chest tighten. "That's not it at all," she whispers, eyes begging him to understand.

"No?" his tone has a sharper edge now. "Please, tell me how I got it wrong."

Elena knows this answer, knows what she's supposed to say—that it wasn't pity, it was compassion, and a goodbye. She'd meant what she'd said, but nothing more. Nothing's changed.

She _knows_ these are the words that should be flowing off her tongue, but instead they stick in her throat.

Because something _has_ changed, and kissing him—_whatever_ it meant—might just be the most honest thing she's ever done.

_Why, oh why did she start a conversation that she can't finish?_

Damon's expression is hard and soft all at once, stony hurt in his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. "It's okay, Elena, I told you—we don't need to talk about it," he intones, turning his back on her and walking away.

How is this the only time she let's him leave?

* * *

><p>"So, what, anyone can call Council meetings now?" Damon snarks as he joins Jasper Fell on the Lockwood porch.<p>

"It's not a full meeting," Jasper looks awfully pleased with himself. "I just have some information to share with Carol that I thought you'd be interested to know."

"Gentlemen," Carol opens the door before Damon can say anything further. She has a wary smile on her face as she ushers them inside.

"You said you found something important," Carol says as she pours a tea service in the study.

"Indeed," Jasper pulls a few photocopied pages out of his jacket pocket. "How well did you know your husband, Carol?"

Carol Lockwood is obviously taken aback. "He was my husband," she states, barely refraining from spluttering.

"And his family?" Jasper presses.

"As well as you do, Jasper," Carol frowns. "They're a good family, prominent in this area for as long as I can remember—and as a Founding Family, they of course date back much further than that."

"So you'd be surprised to learn that the Lockwoods have a few skeletons in their closet?"

Damon doesn't like where this is going…

"Just what are you getting at?" Carol's mouth puckers into a thin line.

"I don't mean any offense to _you_, Carol," Jasper smiles smarmily. "I'm sure you had no idea what you were getting into when you married Richard."

"I'm sure I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Carol raises a prim eyebrow.

"Tyler might," Jasper leans back. "I'd like to talk to him."

Carol's teacup clatters unevenly in its saucer. "My son is not at home," Carol lies calmly. Damon can hear the kid playing on the Wii upstairs.

"Your _son_ may not be all that he appears…"

"Jasper, cut to the chase," Damon interjects. If they're going to have this out, they might as well get to it. Jasper obviously isn't going to be silenced, much as Damon is tempted to do the silencing.

"Everything I've been reading leads to one conclusion," Jasper obliges. "It's easy to miss the signs, but once you know what you're looking for…" he shrugs, as if talking about the weather or how to bake a proper apple pie. "It's clear to me that the Lockwood family has quietly passed along the lycanthropy gene for years—decades—maybe even centuries."

"I will thank you not to say such things in my house," Carol sits up straighter, eyes cool.

"I know it's hard to hear," Jasper puts the papers back in his pocket. "But I wouldn't bring this to you if I didn't have suitable proof."

"You're _wrong_," Carol insists. "And if you say anything to the contrary, I'll sue you for defamation."

"Don't misunderstand me," Jasper stands, "I'm going forward on this with or without you. I'm merely here as a courtesy—and to give you the opportunity to distance yourself from the family before things get away from you."

Carol stares up at him, dumbfounded.

"Carol," Jasper nods. "Damon," he turns, "will you walk me out?"

Damon stands, glancing at Carol—but she hardly seems to see him. Damon isn't exactly sure what just happened here, but he's positive it isn't good. He isn't keen on letting Jasper call the shots either, but Damon will swallow his pride if it means staying on Jasper's good side—at least for now.

"That went well," Jasper walks jauntily to his car.

"What kind of game are you playing at?" Damon stops on the bottom step. Someone should have told this joker what happens to people who challenge the status quo around here…

"I believe in the truth, Damon," Jasper says seriously. "I just want to represent it well. Which reminds me—I'd love to pick your brain sometime about Logan. The whole incident is _shrouded_ in mystery."

"I'm not sure I can help you," Damon's eyes narrow.

"Oh, sure you can," Jasper smiles widely, climbing into his car without further reply.

Damon watches him drive off—for a second he thinks how easy it would be to overtake him, to put an end to this fishing expedition…

But he turns, catching the end of a conversation between Carol and Tyler instead. They're starting to yell, somewhere upstairs.

_"—just tell me what you know, Tyler."_

_"How many times can I explain it to you? I don't know _anything_."_

_"Then why is Jasper so convinced this is accurate?_

_"I don't know."_

_"I think that you do—and I want you to stop lying to me about it."_

_"You've officially lost it."_

_"If you're caught up in something, if what Jasper says turns out to be true..." a shuddering sigh, "I won't be able to protect you."_

_"You're my mother!"_

_"A mother who doesn't recognize her son anymore."_

_"I'm _right here_—I'm still your son no matter what else I am."_

_Fool, _Damon thinks as Carol draws in a sharp gasp.

_"So it _is_ true?"_

_"Why should you care, if you're just going to turn your back on me?"_

If Carol has a response, Damon doesn't catch it—he's already putting his car in drive and pulling it around by the time teen wolf comes storming out the front door in all his incensed glory.

Tyler looks surprised to see Damon, and even more so when Damon leans across the car to throw the passenger door open.

"Well don't just stand there," Damon rolls his eyes. "Get in."

* * *

><p>Jeremy opens the door, relieved to see Bonnie on the other side.<p>

"I found them!" she exclaims.

"What?" Jeremy is taken off-guard.

"I found Stefan!" she smiles wide, already stepping into the foyer.

"Really?" Jeremy momentarily forgets the anxiety he's been fighting all day—but just momentarily. "That's great..." he follows quickly on her heels, "but why haven't you been answering my calls all day?"

"I texted you," Bonnie throws over her shoulder with a little frown.

Jeremy wants to point out that _'Busy—will call'_ doesn't exactly inspire reassurance in a boyfriend, but he doesn't get the chance.

_"Feeling neglected?"_ Vicki's voice floats past his ear, but she's not there when he turns.

"I found him!" Bonnie announces to the group gathered in the library. The buzz of a thousand shifting conversations and arguments that have been going ever since Damon came home with Tyler in tow stop abruptly.

"Stefan?" Elena asks, just as Damon and Alaric both frown, "How?"

"Yes, Stefan," Bonnie throws her bag on an empty seat. She seems almost out of breath. "And I found a spell—I'd tried it before, actually—but I thought it didn't work because it's too advanced, but then I tried it again and—"

"Not really answering the question," Damon interjects in that dangerously unaffected tone he likes.

"Right," Bonnie breathes. "Stefan's ring," she explains, "was first spelled by Emily—basically, I can trace another witches magic, especially one that's related to me, _especially_ when I know what I'm looking for—the connection is stronger than whatever protection Klaus has over them."

"His ring..." Damon looks down at his finger. "Handy."

"So where are they?" Caroline asks. Jeremy notes she still hasn't left Tyler's side—hasn't been more than a foot away from him since Damon called.

In fact, they're the only two people in the room standing less than a yard apart.

"Outside some little town called Micanopy, in Florida," Bonnie nods confidently.

Jeremy refuses to notice Anna sitting on the upper railing, smiling down, looking positively thrilled.

"Find it on a map while I grab a bag," Damon pronounces.

"And what good will that do?" Katherine argues before anyone else has a chance to object—though the looks on their faces make it clear the room was about to erupt in protest.

"It'll get me one step closer to getting my idiot brother home," Damon crosses his arms stubbornly.

Katherine's tone is bored, but her eyes could cut diamonds. "One step closer and three steps back," she scoffs. "Are you telling me that I needn't have bothered saving your life? I mean, if I'd known you had a death wish..."

"And just what do you suggest?" Damon looks her over skeptically. "That we seduce Klaus into submission? I know that's worked _so well_ for you."

"We don't need you to go running down their half-cocked," Katherine snaps. "Klaus will stop you—and if he doesn't kill you, he'll torture you, or make you do his bidding. And then we'll be down two Salvatores with nothing to show for it. We don't need that," she repeats, "_Stefan_ doesn't need that—what we _do_ need, is information."

"Great," Damon throws up his hands. "Why don't you scamper on down there and rustle up some intel, Mata Hari—Klaus will be _so_ glad to see you."

"I'll do no such thing," Katherine glares at him. "Klaus will never let me out of his sight again."

"And what a _pity_ that would be," Damon mutters sarcastically.

"Well we have to do something," Elena stands up. Jeremy swallows hard at the expression on her face—a heartbreaking mix of desperation and resignation. It's getting harder and harder to look at his sister these days.

The room descends into arguments and counterarguments again, as everyone fights to have their opinion heard. Standing closest to him, Jeremy is the first person to hear Tyler speak.

Besides Caroline, that is. "What? _No!_" she exclaims, looking over at him, wide-eyed.

This, at least, gets everyone's attention.

"No, Care, it makes sense," Tyler says quietly, before turning back to the group with a grim determination setting his features. "I'll go."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Don't forget to give that review button a little tap!**


	8. Smile Like You Mean It

**Author's Note: Hello there loyal readers and welcome newcomers – thanks for coming along on this little ride with me. Apologies for the slightly longer than usual (by this story's rate anyhow) delay in updating… work got away from me a little bit this week, and next to a sticky case of writer's block I was done for. Hopefully this chapter won't suffer too much as a result – you'll have to give me your two cents! ;)**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Eight: Smile Like You Mean It<em>**

* * *

><p>Tyler jumps back, startled to find Caroline sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of his bed. "Don't <em>do<em> that," he breathes, walking past her to the dresser.

"Don't _go_," she counters stubbornly.

"I have to go, Caroline," he says, his back to her as he starts to fill a small duffel bag.

"Who says?" she's not letting this drop. It's not right, and it's not fair. It's just not.

Tyler stops what he's doing, staring down into a disorganized drawer. "_I _do," he murmurs. "If I hadn't bitten Damon, Stefan wouldn't have—"

"Stop that, _right_ now," Caroline stands fiercely. "There is plenty of blame to go around _way_ before we even get to that night," she narrows her eyes in defiance, heart aching. She's sure some of that blame lies with her… Regardless, she isn't letting Tyler take it on himself. That can't be the reason he throws himself in the lion's den.

"Even so," Tyler shrugs, resuming his packing. "It makes sense—and I _want_ to help. We went through this."

Caroline crosses her arms. She had heard all the arguments—watched as one by one their little group had been persuaded to let Tyler try and get close to Klaus, get some much-needed intel. Even Damon.

But Caroline doesn't care about logic and sensible plans.

"I don't want you to get yourself killed over this," her voice is growing softer, in spite of herself.

Tyler turns to her, expression unreadable. "I won't," barely a whisper. "And I won't let anyone else, either," more forcefully now.

He's packing again, and she's standing there like she has a right to argue further. Only she doesn't know what else to say.

_That she cares about him? _

Would that make a difference? Make a dent in this stoic armor he's wrapping himself up in?

"I still know some of the werewolves down there," he begins reciting the plan—this illustrious, foolproof, _rational_ plan she's supposed to love so much, as if hearing it for the tenth time will make her feel better. "I can start with them—see what they know, maybe even stop them from joining Klaus… and then I'll go to him myself."

"And he'll _kill_ you. _Please_, Tyler…"

"He won't," Tyler shakes his head. "I have information, and I'll say I want to follow him—that I'm tired of being dictated to by vampires and turned out by my own family…"

Caroline swallows at that, knows there's a reason Tyler didn't come in until Carol had left.

"The way Jasper Fell is going on," he continues, "it's not much safer for me in Mystic Falls, anyway."

Caroline bites her lip, but still refuses to acquiesce. It just _isn't fair_.

She sinks down onto the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. She doesn't want to say goodbye—she didn't get to last time, but he came back. This time…

"Caroline…" he sits down next to her, hangs an arm around her shoulders. "I'll be fine…"

"No," her voice has the slightest quaver, and she _hates_ that, "no, you won't. Not if you run off playing the Lone Ranger," she takes a deep breath, makes a decision she should've made hours ago. "Which is why I'm going with you."

* * *

><p>"You can come in, Elena," Katherine says slyly, her back to the door.<p>

Elena feels the flush creeping up her neck, but she stays in the doorway. She clears her throat, "Damon said you're leaving."

"Only temporarily," Katherine turns and smiles at her with a glint in her eyes. "Couldn't _possibly_ stay away for long—the fun is just getting started."

Elena's face is grim at that.

"Don't pout," Katherine chides, speeding to within a few inches of Elena's face and nipping her chin between thumb and forefinger. "We look much better when we're smiling."

Elena backs away a step, not wanting to show Katherine how uncomfortable she makes her. The vampire just widens her smile, though, and returns to the contents of the bag she'd spilled onto the bed.

"Where are you going to go?"

"Going to see a man about a dog…" Katherine chuckles to herself, a low, sultry sound.

Elena wonders if she's capable of making that noise herself—and immediately berates herself for thinking it.

"You shouldn't be surprised that no one trusts you," Elena crosses her arms, "when all you do is speak in lies and riddles."

"You wound me," Katherine puts a hand to her heart with a caricature of a frown. "Besides, I really _was_ telling the truth—there's a shaman in the Black Hills—a distant descendant of someone I met when I first came to this country…"

If Elena thought Katherine had any genuine feeling beyond narcissism, she might term Katherine's expression wistful.

"…I think he might be able to help us sort out this connection to Klaus—our favorite sick puppy," she finishes, wicked smile back in place.

"Damon will be glad if you do," Elena says quietly.

Katherine cocks her head. "And you will too, won't you?"

"Of course," Elena jaw sets, "if it helps us stop Klaus, get Stefan back."

"And if it means you don't have to worry so much about the _elder_ brother..?" Katherine presses in a cloying tone.

Elena will not let Katherine see her blink, but she can't help the little hiccup her heart makes. She's pretty sure Damon passed out again this morning—saw some fresh new horror, but he'll barely talk to her, much less confide in her.

She hates how desperately she wants that to change.

"You really have no _idea _how much you hurt him, do you?" Katherine tilts her head further when Elena doesn't respond; ends up shaking her head in disbelief.

Elena bristles, lips pursed. "It's not my fault that I love Stefan, or that Damon loves me," she doesn't bother to beat around the bush. She's tired of Katherine's efforts to stir the pot—for her own gain or amusement, Elena isn't sure which.

Katherine clucks her tongue, that same aggravating smile in her eyes. "You're so _young_," she sighs airily. "You hardly know what love is."

"And you do?" Elena thinks if Katherine ever knew, she's long since forgotten.

The vampire is back in Elena's face, eyes gleaming in the mid-morning light. "I know this," her voice is a quiet menace but for that ubiquitous smile, "I _thought_ Damon loved me. But—and it pains me to admit this—that's a drop in the bucket of what he feels for you. Trust me when I say the only person he loves _more_ is his baby brother, no matter what they do to each other. And so right now, between the two of you," she lowers her voice to a whisper, "_he's doomed_."

Elena is left alone as Katherine speeds from the room, her parting words hanging in the air.

* * *

><p>"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Caroline," Elena is still fretting as Damon closes the lid on the ice chest.<p>

"Don't worry so much," Caroline's smile is forced, but she hides it from Elena's sight as she draws her friend into a tight hug. "I'll be staying in the shadows," she tries for reassurance, "just there as backup—and your personal info relay station."

Elena doesn't look convinced, and frankly Damon isn't either—but at least Lockwood won't be gallivanting off to Klaus completely on his own.

"I should go," he says, not for the first time. "If anyone is going to go along for this half-baked undercover scheme, it should be me."

"No," Caroline shakes her head, "you need to stay here—you have a better chance of protecting everyone than I do," and the way her eyes flick to Elena, Damon knows what she considers his most important responsibility. On that, at least, they can agree. "Besides, with everything going on in the Council, and without those visions under control…"

Damon's jaw tenses—the last thing he needs is a reminder of how disastrous it could be for him to have a damn fainting spell at the wrong moment.

"_Elena!_" Jeremy's voice calls from the driveway. _"Where'd you put the extra bottle of vervain?"_

"Boys…" Elena mutters under her breath, hurrying off with a last, fleeting glance at her blonde friend.

"Well," Caroline dips an ankle, hefts the cooler of blood off the table, "any last words of wisdom?"

Though her tone is light, Damon can see she's seriously asking. If only there was more time…

"That might run out," he nods toward the supply of blood in her hands, "and you might not always be in the position to get to a hospital or a blood bank—but don't you _dare_ try to survive on the Bambi diet; you're hardly strong enough as it is."

Caroline blinks at the harsh words, but raises her chin defiantly.

_Good girl_.

"I don't suppose Stefan bothered to teach you how to properly feed without killing?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Not really," Caroline admits. "But I've done it before."

Damon nods. "It _will_ get harder at first, the more you do it—the desire to get that last, sweet drop will be strong when you're used to pre-packaged fare. And the more you're on edge, the more you'll want it."

"I understand," Caroline says evenly.

"I hope you do," Damon sighs. It's like turning a housecat out into the jungle before it's ready to be a jaguar. "Judgy McPhee will have my head if she finds out I was encouraging you to put human lives at risk."

"I can do it," Caroline says firmly. "Anything else?"

Damon shakes his head. There's _so_ _much_ else.

He really should be the one to go…

He's tired of being cooped up here, unable to do anything useful—a slave to fever-dreams and the machinations of men. And he's tired of other people—of _kids_, really—doing his dirty work. Cleaning up his _brother's_ dirty work.

"Wait," he stops her when she's almost to the door. She turns back expectantly. "I know you care about Stefan," he forces himself to say, "that you think you know him."

"I _do_ know him," Caroline insists.

"You only know what he's wanted you to see," Damon grits his teeth. He has to make her understand. "You won't be prepared for the Stefan you're going to see."

She nods shallowly, looking up at him. He can see the wheels turning—the internal battle between her sunshiny optimism and her worst fears. "Is he really that bad?" she asks, almost meekly.

"He's worse," Damon mutters. "So for God's sake, don't try to catch him alone, don't try to reason with him, don't try to look for a person that you thought you knew—it's more complicated than a little high school therapy session. You're there to get information, and get out, nothing more."

"We know what we need to do," she assures him, like a good little soldier.

"You _call me_ at the first sign of trouble," he adds as they resume their progress to the door.

"I will," she promises, looks back at him one more time, blue eyes serious. "I won't let you down."

* * *

><p>"Damon!" Elena runs to the fireplace, heart pounding when she sees his prone form sprawled across the hearth, inches from the flames. She rolls him over unceremoniously, relieved to see no signs of damage. Still, there are beads of sweat on his brow and his eyes are moving back and forth with a frantic speed beneath his lids.<p>

She pulls his head into her lap instinctively, smoothing out his hair, slipping a hand into his—she tries not to think about the frantic pulse ringing in her ears. At least she doesn't have to wait long for him to come to.

He groans, squeezing his eyes hard, blinking up at her for a second before blurring away. She's startled by the sudden loss of contact.

"What did you see?" she hears herself ask. As if this is the first thought on her mind.

Damon doesn't respond right away, leans heavily against an armchair. "I need something…" he breathes heavily. "I…"

"You should sit down," she stands. "I'll get you some blood…" she starts to run off to the kitchen.

"I can get my own drink," he grits out, not quite looking at her as he half-stumbles over to the liquor cabinet instead.

"I wish you'd let me help you," her voice is much too plaintive.

"Why?" he asks, a distinct edge to his voice. "So you don't feel so bad when you expect me to help _you_? To take care of _you_?"

"That's not fair," Elena doesn't know if she can have this fight again, not today. She'll only start doubting herself more, and she's had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Damon appears to take a deep breath, eyes closed, fingers closed around the neck of an old bottle. "I know," he says so quietly she can barely hear him. "Life isn't fair, and it sure as hell isn't easy…"

Elena swallows at that. She knows he's trying—knows he meant what he said when he was dying, could hear the truth of it in every syllable. He wasn't looking for anything from her, for once. Still isn't, it would seem… But if what Katherine said is true, then this is harder on him than Elena has been willing to admit. And she might just be making it worse. But she doesn't know how _not_ to rely on him, and that just scares her all the more.

She didn't really need Katherine to tell her that, though, did she?

"What did you see?" she asks again, hoping for a change of subject.

"Klaus was… reading something," he shrugs. "Something about his family, I think…" he trails off as he puts the liquor bottle back in place, peering suddenly into the back of the shelf. "Wait a second…"

"What?" Elena moves closer. "What is it?"

Damon pulls his hand back with an old vial tucked into his palm—the very potion Elijah had intended to use on her during the sacrifice.

"I just realized… in all these pesky visions, I haven't seen Elijah yet…"

"Maybe he's off doing… something else?" she shrugs lamely.

"Maybe," Damon turns the jar over and over in his hand, staring at it contemplatively. "I think it's past time we tried to find out."

* * *

><p>"<em>Go away<em>," Jeremy says through gritted teeth.

Vicki pouts. "You don't mean that, do you?"

Jeremy isn't entirely sure anymore _what_ he wants anymore. "It's Bonnie I want to talk to, not you," he mutters.

"She's been working hard," Anna appears next to him. "Maybe she's just looking to get some rest."

"When _you_ avoided me, you were hiding something," Jeremy points out.

"Jeremy?" Damon interrupts their discussion, poking his head in the door with narrowed eyes. "Who're you talking to?"

"What?" Jeremy sits up straighter. "Oh, um… no one, not talking to anyone."

"I would've thought you were a little old for imaginary friends," Damon raises an eyebrow. "But you were most definitely talking to someone."

"What, are you eavesdropping now?" Jeremy deflects with as much simmering ire as he can muster.

"I have _very_ good hearing," Damon reminds him with a hint of annoyance. "I can tune it out, but I can't exactly turn it on and off."

"That's true," Anna supplies with a shrug.

"What's got under you skin lately, anyhow?" Damon adds bluntly. "You're acting weirder than normal…"

"Oh gee, thanks," Jeremy musters a withering tone.

Damon looks at him askance, but doesn't press. "Suit yourself, but try to keep the mental instability in check, would you?"

"Tell him Klaus doesn't read for pleasure," Anna instructs, watching him go.

_"What?"_ Jeremy asks, under his breath.

"See," Damon turns back, "you _just_ did it again—you do _know_ you're talking aloud, don't you?"

"_Tell him_," Anna insists, eyes still resolutely on Damon.

"Klaus, he uh… he," Jeremy flushes under the vampire's increasingly impatient stare, "he doesn't read for pleasure."

Damon is absolutely still for moment. "What did you say?"

"Tell him there are no accidents," Vicki, this time.

"There are no accidents," Jeremy repeats dutifully, feeling more foolish by the second. Was he honestly letting apparitions tell him what to say?

"Okay, seriously kid, did you develop late-onset Tourette's this morning?"

"No, I…" Jeremy wishes that Anna and Vicki were feeding him words now. "I've sort of been seeing things, myself…"

The stillness again. The stillness makes Jeremy very nervous…

"Of course you are," Damon deadpans. "Haven't been drinking any stray bottles of blood, have you?"

"No…" Jeremy's palms are sweating now. _Just spit it out_. "I think when I… when I _died_, I didn't come back alone…"

"And what does _that_ mean?" Damon's jaw clicks as his arms cross.

"I…" he takes a deep breath. "My dead ex-girlfriends are haunting me," he spurts out all at once.

He almost laughs when he hears it out loud.

"The fact that you have more than one of those…" Damon mutters under his breath. "Look, Jeremy, dying is an unsettling experience—believe me, I know. But sometimes—"

"Don't write this off," Jeremy interrupts, determined to make Damon believe him now that he's already taken the dive. "I _know_ it sounds crazy, but—" he pauses as Vicki whispers in his ear. "They say you're right about Elijah—that you're right to go looking for him."

_That_, at least, seems to have gotten Damon's attention. His eyes bore into Jeremy's for a long moment before he lets out a short, incredulous breath, shaking his head.

"When people tell you to 'roll with the punches,' how many do they expect, do you think?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading!**


	9. They Dream in Color

**Author's Note: Your next chapter awaits..!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Nine: They Dream in Color<em>**

* * *

><p>"Take a look at these," Liz pushes a stack of files across her desk.<p>

Damon pulls a manila folder off the top of the pile. "An arrest warrant?" He flips through the next few files, seeing search warrants and BOLOs for persons of interest mixed in with the paperwork.

"More than half of the Lockwoods are in those files," Liz leans back in her chair. "Even some of the kids—and most of the ones who've moved away."

"Are you going to use these?" Damon continues flipping through the pages, stops on the image of a six year old kid—one of Tyler's second cousins, he thinks.

"What choice do I have?" Liz looks like she's been losing sleep over this. "Jasper Fell has been very thorough... He's isolated animal attacks more consistent with werewolves than vampires going back as far as 1850. There's even evidence linking several members of the Lockwood family—most of them long dead—to the murders. Not to mention what he's been reading in those journals... Carol's the one who raised questions of my competency and credibility, how can I ignore all of this without damning myself along with her?"

"It'll look vindictive," Damon points out the other side of that coin.

"Not any more so than this," she hands him a last file.

Damon's eyebrows rise as he reads. "People will definitely have something to say if you arrest the Mayor, Liz."

"At least I'll have the satisfaction of seeing the look on Carol's face," Liz grins hopefully.

Damon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Normally, he'd be more than happy to have the Lockwoods—not to mention more potential werewolves—out of the way. But the more digging that's done, the more likely they'll find something Damon isn't keen on sharing... Jasper is poking around enough as it is. "She doesn't know anything," Damon closes the file, "she's been in the dark as much as the rest of them probably are. We don't even know how far afield the gene has been passed down."

"But what if Jasper has a point, what if there's a danger here—a danger to the town?" Liz counters. "Everything we know will help us stop someone else from getting hurt, or worse."

"_I'm_ a danger to the town," Damon drawls, "and I'm in your office."

"Do you want me to start questioning that decision again?" Liz asks pointedly. "Besides, from everything Caroline has told me, vampires have a lot more control over what they do."

Damon can't exactly argue with that, even as a memory of Stefan, licking the blood from his canines, rises unbidden in his mind. "Some make more of an effort than others..." he mutters darkly.

"Jasper has been hounding me to bring in Tyler first," the Sheriff adds. "I'll protect him if I can, but I can't even _find_ him."

Damon frowns, "He's already left town... Didn't Caroline tell you?"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday," Liz sits up a little straighter.

Damon starts to stand, knowing this is one family feud he doesn't want to be involved in. "You should talk to your daughter, Liz."

"Damon..." Liz stands slowly, the color draining from her face. "What aren't you telling me?"

"She's fine," he says, placating. _For now..._ "They're looking into some leads for us on our _other_ wolf problem..."

"They? _She's with Tyler?_" Fear and fury are dueling in her eyes.

_Oh, Blondie... will you never learn?_

"Don't shoot the messenger," Damon holds up his hands. "Just talk to Caroline."

"I thought we were _friends_," Liz says, accusatory in a mocking tone, crossing her arms angrily as he starts to leave.

"Why do you think I didn't just straight-up lie to you?" he asks with a ghost of a smirk. "Don't let this turn into a witch hunt, Liz," he nods back to the files on her desk, already walking away. "Those have never worked out well for me..."

* * *

><p>"We'll be in Florida by tomorrow," Caroline speaks into the quiet.<p>

"Uh huh," Tyler agrees absently. He's barely spoken a word in the last ninety miles or so and Caroline is just about ready to scream.

She thought road trips were supposed to be _fun_.

But she can tell his mind is elsewhere, so she smoothes out the folds in her shorts and tries to be patient.

"Why don't we stop for the night?" she suggests tentatively. "Get a fresh start on the last leg in the morning?"

"I just want to get there," Tyler says stubbornly, voice gruff, eyes on the road.

_No you don't_, she thinks. "What good will it do if you're exhausted? A little rest will do us both good," she presses.

He looks at her for a moment. "I don't know..."

It takes a little more wheedling, but soon enough he's taking the next exit and pulling the car up to a passable looking motel.

Caroline pays for the room with her daddy's money, and laughs to herself at the red flags this must raise under normal circumstances—girl runs off with dangerous boy, credit card used at a shady motel in some ramshackle Backwoodsville, South Carolina, no note, no warning.

She's not sure why she didn't say goodbye to her mom. Of course, Caroline knows she wouldn't have approved. But that wouldn't have stopped her... She could have said _something_.

Trust goes both ways, after all.

Yet for all their progress over the last few days, she worries the damage may already be done... Or maybe she just didn't want to face the gravity of the task ahead. Still, Caroline wonders when she stopped feeling like she owed her mother an explanation...

She freshens up in the bathroom, stares at herself for a long moment in the mirror—so long that it stops feeling like she's looking at herself. It's another person in that glass, a person who has confidence and passion and drive.

Somewhere, deep down, Caroline is still scared to death that person is all an act.

She walks back into the room, silencing yet another call from her mother as she goes. Tyler is stooping over the TV's rabbit ears, half-dressed with a t-shirt forgotten on the floor.

_Damn, he has nice shoulders..._

"No signal?" she asks, sitting down on one of the stiff double beds and wincing at the creak in the springs.

"Nope," he flops down on the other bed in defeat. The story of anxiety is written in every over-wrought sinew of his body.

Caroline Forbes knows a thing or two about that.

"It's not too late to go back..." she says carefully.

"_No_," his answer is emphatic, voice sharp. It takes her aback. "Sorry," he tries to smile at her, "I guess I'm a little on edge."

"_I'll say_," she snorts under her breath, but the little smile she sends him softens the blow.

Slowly, he returns the grin, sitting up with a sigh and facing her. Their knees almost touch in the narrow space between the beds.

"The closer we get, the more _real_ it feels," he says honestly. "I don't want to go back, but it's hard not to think about what might happen if I keep going forward."

She nods, understanding.

"How do you stop it from getting to you?" he asks, eyes carrying the intensity that his casual tone does not.

"Vampires can turn off their emotions," she shrugs—not that she's taken advantage of it. Her stomach is still a bundle of nerves... it does dull the edge, though.

"Figures," he mutters with a sly grin, "you guys get all the perks."

"The key is to take your mind off whatever's got you in a tizzy," she says, trying to keep her voice light. "That's what my therapist used to tell her when I was a kid, anyway."

Though Caroline, for one, can't take her mind—or her eyes—off of Tyler's bare abs. She blushes furiously.

"Yea?" Tyler slides forward a little, narrowing the gap between them. "Got any good distractions?"

"I don't know..." she whispers, breath catching when he slides a hand across her knee.

She can blame it on impending doom or vampire-heightened libido or convenient location later, but right now Caroline's skin is tingling and she's getting lost in the intensity of his gaze.

So she does exactly what she probably shouldn't—and launches herself at him before she can think better of it. The moment their lips crash together she's seven heavens above caring about good or bad decisions.

Distraction, she thinks, is a beautiful thing.

* * *

><p>"I can't <em>believe<em> you didn't tell me," Bonnie says angrily for what must be the hundredth time. "Are they here now?"

"_No_," Jeremy grits his teeth. He knows he had this coming. "You have every right to be upset—"

"_Upset_?" she interjects, spluttering incredulously. She has been fumbling through the grimoires on her table but she turns back to him now. Jeremy has the distinct impression she has to remind herself that his human brain can't withstand one of her infamous aneurisms. "I have every right to be _livid_," she seethes. "You're seeing visions of your ex-girlfriends—_dead_, vampire ex-girlfriends—that probably came back as the result of a spell _I_ did—and not only do you keep it from me but I have to find out from _Damon_?"

Bonnie takes a deep breath, hands on her hips. It's distinctly a 'what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself' posture.

But Jeremy is tired of explaining himself. He's been doing that all morning, at yet another useless pow-wow where they talk and talk, learning nothing, deciding nothing, before trudging away frustrated and defeated. So he goes on the offensive.

"You can't tell me you haven't been hiding something from me, too," he fishes, as accusatory as he can be.

"Don't change the subject," Bonnie snaps, but he saw the guilt flash in her eyes first.

"Admit it," he presses, "you've been avoiding me, not taking my calls—you won't talk to me or tell me what you're up to," he continues rattling off her offenses, "and you can't tell me it's a coincidence you haven't done any magic around me lately—that you insisted you'd have to come home to try anything today when I know for a fact you had your grimoire in your bag and Damon keeps all of herbs you needed in the kitchen."

Bonnie glares at him, but he can see the damage is done. "What's going on, Bonnie?" he holds her gaze.

"I can't use my powers around you, okay?" she throws up her hands, dropping into an empty chair.

Jeremy stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded. He'd thought she was just trying too hard—that her magic was taxing her strength and she didn't want him to stop her. "What?" he manages to ask.

She looks up at him, the pain evident in her eyes—he knows she's not the type to cry but that look alone softens his heart considerably. "I didn't notice at first," she says as he sinks into a chair opposite her, "I don't think the effect was that strong... But the past few days it's been worse."

"And it's just… me?"

Bonnie nods. "You're the only thing that changes," she twists her hands together, worrying a thumb over one of her rings. "Being around you used to make me feel stronger," she doesn't look at him, "but now... something's off—_wrong_. I don't feel like myself."

"I do that?" he asks weakly.

"Magic is a part of who I am," Bonnie finally meets his eyes, a hand to her heart. "Even before I knew what it was, it was there. And now, around you, it's like a rag has been thrown over the light, suffocating it."

Jeremy's chest constricts at the thought that he could be doing that to her, cutting her off from some essential part of her being. It makes him feel like a monster.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbles. He doesn't know what else to say.

"It's not your fault, you're not trying to do it," she sighs. "I just don't know where that leaves us..."

Jeremy's head snaps up. "You don't know where that leaves us?" he repeats. He knows how important being a witch is to Bonnie, but he'd thought _he_ was at least important enough to warrant an effort. "How about it leaves us with some work to do?" he stands abruptly. "How about it leaves us with an obstacle to overcome?"

"Jeremy—" she reaches a hand out, looking stricken, but he cuts her off and pulls his arm from her reach.

"No," he looks down at her, feeling all of the stress and frustration he's been bottling up start to bubble over. He doesn't really care if he's overreacting—dammit, he hasn't felt right since she brought him back from the dead _either_, and he's been dealing with ghostly visitations from past loves all day and night. But he can't articulate any of that right now—not to her. "Just—no."

He walks away, heads for the door with an implacable purpose before his temper dissipates and he's forced to be calm, and supportive, and level-headed again.

"Jeremy, wait, that's not what I—" Bonnie calls after him, but whatever she has to say is cut off by the slamming of the door in his wake.

Somewhere, Jeremy is sure he can hear a low and ominous peal of laughter following him down the drive.

* * *

><p>Caroline thinks, in retrospect, this might not have been the best time to strike up a new relationship. Though the romantic in her finds the whole 'love out of war' scenario appealing on paper, in practice it's been a bit uneven.<p>

That first morning alone was full of enough doubts to stuff a girl's locker room—doubts of _is this a huge mistake_ and _did we just do that because we're scared out of our minds_ or _what can even happen now_. And yet every day, when Tyler comes back from another werewolf contact or Caroline slinks in from her reconnaissance around town, they fall together.

And it works. Somehow, it _works_.

There's something to be said for comfort and reassurance when you could easily fall to pieces under the pressure—no better way to let off steam and pent-up anxiety than a good romp, either.

But this was just a way station, a shelter in the storm—_a cruel joke_, Caroline is starting to think. Because just as she's getting used to the idea of _having_ someone again, of course that's when she has to give him up.

"You ready for this?" she whispers from their vantage point upon the hill. Caroline can see the little line of outbuildings tucked into the lip of the next crest, remnants of the now tumbledown plantation house along the river.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Tyler stares down at the scene, darkening with the setting sun.

Caroline would say that there's always a choice, but she knows there isn't. At least, not a choice they're willing to make. From what she understands in talking to Elena and Damon and Bonnie these last few days, their little group is gathering more and more questions and very few answers. Right now, their greatest hope relies on Klaus and Stefan being in one of those buildings.

"I'll be watching, all the time," Caroline turns to look at him. "If you need anything…"

"I know," he says solemnly. "You'll be there."

She nods, inwardly cursing the little prickle at the corner of her eye. Tyler doesn't notice the threatening tears, though, just offers her a lopsided smile, smoothing the hair away from her face. She leans into the touch, eyes drifting closed, a little hum escaping her lips as he kisses her gently.

When she looks again, he's already trudging down the hill. She follows at a discreet distance, savoring the taste of him on her tongue.

It's the underlying, acrid flavors of goodbye that Caroline tries—futilely—to ignore.

* * *

><p><em>There are rows and rows of them—bodies. Some cold, and some close to it. Their cries are for mother and mercy, their voices weak and depleted of anything but the last dregs of desperation.<em>

_The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, the sharp tang of metal clings to every surface, every breath is death…_

Damon wakes in fits and starts—what started out as a dream has become a nightmare from which he cannot wholly wake. He fights to keep his mind from slipping back into the vision, but he's seems doomed to visit whatever little shop of horrors Klaus is waltzing through just now.

_Two young men, covered in so much blood it's hard to tell what wounds led them to such a state. The bite marks are placed just so, though, that they'll be kept alive much longer than the blood loss would suggest…_

Damon startles back into consciousness once again, thinking of the war—_his_ war. So long ago, but memories of fallen friends in such a state of hopelessness and delirium are not so difficult to recall…

He's managed to make it out of his bed now, but he feels the weight of the connection pressing down on him as he slips back to the floor.

_The girl… the girl he didn't see before—a gift from Klaus, no doubt, wrapped up in his puppet's greedy fingers. Stefan is staring at her like the messiah's second coming, green eyes jarring against the glare of red…_

Damon chokes on air he doesn't need, feels a wave of nausea anyone with his degree of experience with blood and gore and torture has no right to feel.

_She's like a substitute in a police lineup—all the right characteristics, none of the substance. Brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin, legs down to hell and back. Stefan's eyes take a moment to ravish her before his teeth catch up to the party._

_He undresses her quickly, but he'll kill her slowly…_

Damon is literally panting on all fours—the irony doesn't escape him. He wills himself to stay in the here and now long enough to speed himself to her room.

He knows the girl in the vision isn't _her_, he knows this. But he just needs to see for himself that she's okay.

"Elena…" he doesn't realize he's whispered the name aloud, standing like an idiot in her bedroom doorway, until she stirs in her sleep.

She rolls over, blinks blearily once, twice, before sitting bolt upright. Her heartbeat speeds from timpani to snare drum in nanoseconds. Somewhere in Damon's haywire brain, he hates that he's done that to her.

"Damon?" she's launched herself out of the bed now, pads over to him on the cool floor. "Damon, what is it?"

"Sorry…" he mumbles, still having a hard time seeing straight, "everything's fine… didn't mean t'wake you…"

Her hands are checking him over without any rhyme or reason, as if assuring herself that he's more or less intact will answer any pertinent questions. She sniffs the air experimentally, presumably convinces herself he hasn't been drinking. Eyes wide and full of concern, it doesn't seem to matter that they've hardly known how to be around each other these last few days.

In crisis, he decides, all other tension melts away.

It's the coming of the dawn that always poses the problem.

But these are thoughts he can barely process right now, flashes of another girl echoing like ghosted projections across his mind.

"_Damon, what happened?_" she's holding his face in her hands, trying to get him to focus on her—he understands this, but he's being pulled in and out of himself like a rag doll and it's hard enough to stay on his own two feet. "Did something happen?" she repeats more urgently. "Is it Stefan?"

_Stefan… Stefan's hands roaming where they shouldn't, his mouth leaving a trail of grief, her life falling away from her as a leaf falls forgotten to the ground…_

Damon stumbles a bit, but Elena picks up the slack as he steadies his bearings. "You're okay…" he whispers, fingers running searchingly over her hair, trying to reassure himself. Like any good nightmare, your worst fears seem more than possible in their wake. Only this wasn't just a macabre musing of his subconscious, this was a warning and a reminder—but she's okay, she's right here in from of him, he _knows_ this, can _see this_.

"I'm okay," she repeats, finally succeeding in locking her eyes with his. "Damon, _I'm okay_."

"You're okay…" he tries to breathe, a storm-caught deck pitching beneath his feet. She lets him pull her into his arms, sinks into his chest like she belongs there. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, finally feeling an anchor, a _presence_ holding him in place. "You're okay," he whispers into her hair. "You're okay…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Much more to come –stay tuned, and don't forget to drop a review!**


	10. So Tired of Your Straight Line

**Author's Note: Ah, well, the best intentions and all that – but I guess Mother Nature wasn't too keen on me updating this week, and the muses have been less than cooperative as well. But I'm going to soldier on as our dear characters do the same… :)**

**(If you don't recall exactly where we left off, I might recommend reading the very last section of the previous chapter, as this installment picks up rather directly from there.)**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ten: So Tired of Your Straight Line<br>_**

* * *

><p>She did look a bit like her, this one… But it isn't the same—it wasn't what he <em>wanted<em>. Stefan supposes the eyes see what they want to see, but the bloodlust cannot be fooled.

No more than the soul.

Stefan's desires regarding Elena have crossed so many lines, become so muddled, he doesn't know what he'd do if Klaus ever presented him with the genuine article.

Which should scare him, he thinks. But instability is the playground he revels in now.

Protect her. Drink her up. Steal her. Shelter her.

_Want her_.

"Well, well… look what the cat dragged in…"

Stefan tears his eyes away from his latest victim at the sound of Klaus' voice. What he sees is a kick in the stomach.

Tyler is thrown to the ground by the burly warlock who brought him in. He skids to a halt on hands and knees, inches away from a particularly ripe corpse.

One of the fun ones, Stefan remembers.

"Leave us," Klaus murmurs to the guardsman as he pulls Tyler up by the collar. The young Lockwood turns a murkier shade of green as he takes in the full scene before him.

Stefan smiles as he realizes Tyler is looking at _him_—and the naked, bloody girl at his feet.

"What is this place?" Tyler manages, horrified.

Klaus drops him again, grinning. "I have to keep my pets happy," he says, glancing at Stefan. "But I think the more important question is what are _you_ doing here?"

Tyler swallows hard, pulls his gaze back to the Original_. _"I'm here to join you," he clenches his jaw.

"Oh, _really_?" Klaus chuckles, disbelieving. "Even after seeing all of this?" he waves his hands wide.

Tyler nods, though Stefan notices he doesn't look around the room again. "I…" he clears his throat. "I'm tired of being told what to do by people who don't understand, who only care about themselves—tired of pretending I'm something that I'm not."

Klaus smiles slowly. "And what are you?"

Tyler lifts his chin—it's almost convincing. "A predator."

Klaus' grin spreads wider. "Did you hear that, Stefan—the little wolf's a predator."

Stefan cocks his head slightly, considering. He's never really known Tyler Lockwood that well, but he finds this turn of events surprising.

"What about your mother?" Stefan asks, not expecting how hoarse his voice is. He forgets how little he speaks these days.

Tyler seems to have a hard time looking at him, but he answers anyway. "She found out what I am—she doesn't want me around. She'd rather see me… _put down_… than accept me."

"Well… there was some truth there, at least," Klaus walks around the werewolf. "But why come to me? I already tried to kill you once, you know."

"I didn't want to go back to the other werewolves," Tyler gives up trying to keep his eyes on Klaus as the Original stalks his tight perimeter. "They're either in hiding, or they talk about making a stand—but they don't have the power. It's _pathetic_."

"On that much, we agree," Klaus stops to face him.

"I don't want that life." Stefan has to give Tyler credit—not many people will look Klaus in the eye. "I want _more_ than that—I want what you're offering. I want the next step."

"You _want_ an awful lot," Klaus crosses his arms. "What do you have that _I_ want?"

"Information," Tyler says simply.

"Do tell…"

Stefan zones out as Tyler launches into a description of current activities in Mystic Falls. Still, every mention of '_Elena_' or '_Damon_' or even '_Caroline_' punches a little dent in the wall of blood and bitterness he's wrapped himself behind.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well," Klaus interrupts at some point, bringing Stefan back into the here and now. "But I'm going to need more than a scouting report."

Tyler pauses for a moment. "I can get the werewolves on your side," he says at last.

Stefan has been around Klaus long enough to know when his interest in piqued. "Is that so?"

"Lockwood is an old family, respected in the right circles, even down here—they knew my uncle, and they know me. Prove to them you have something to offer against the vampires, and they'll listen to me—to _you_."

It's the little flash of yellow in Klaus' eyes that gives him away—they've taken a few of the werewolves by force, but there's something to be said for the pack mentality. And Stefan thinks Klaus' ego, if not simple practicality, wants _willing_ followers.

"Well then, young master Lockwood," Klaus throws an arm around Tyler's shoulders, "I suppose Damon saving your puny little life has worked to my advantage in more ways than one… Come—I'd say we have _much_ to discuss," he begins to lead Tyler outside. "Oh, Stefan," Klaus calls back, "playtime is over—time to get to work."

Stefan suppresses the sickening twist in the pit of his stomach and follows them out.

* * *

><p>Elena doesn't think she ever watched Stefan sleep—at least, if she did, it never left much of an impression. But Damon…<p>

It's such a marked contrast. And after last night… She tries to remember a time she's seen him that lost and _afraid_. Afraid for _her_.

Elena isn't sure how long they stood there before he let her guide him, drained as he was, to her borrowed bed. She'd almost given in to the fleeting desire to curl up next to him and never let go. She even thought he'd let her—he was too out of it to push her away as he had been lately.

And yet she had hesitated, and she _knew_ why—but the _'Stefan… no…'_ that escaped the elder brother's lips in those first moments of fitful sleep cemented her path to the bedside armchair better than any other uncertainties.

That's where she remains even now, curled under an afghan as the sun peeks through the curtains and Damon stirs.

It doesn't take him long to sense her presence, turns to look at her as he props himself up on his elbows. "Well," he tries for that signature smirk, "we've got to stop meeting like this."

"Don't do that," Elena shakes her head. "Don't try to make everything into a joke."

Damon raises an eyebrow, "Good morning to you, too."

"I'm serious, Damon," Elena says firmly. Somehow she imagined this conversation going much differently.

Then again, she's never been able to plan out her words with him.

He's sitting up now, on the edge of the bed—his glare is hard. "You think I don't take you seriously?" he asks, voice low. "I know how serious this is."

Elena closes her eyes with a deep breath, reaches down to pick up the tumbler of blood sitting next to her long-cold cup of tea. She holds it out to him, a truce.

He accepts it after a long moment, downing the crimson liquid in a single gulp.

"What happened last night?" she asks when he's done. Quiet, so quiet.

"Just the usual," he shrugs, "a regular rocky horror picture show…"

"You saw Stefan?" she whispers, almost scared to know the answer.

"The '_Ripper_'?" Damon bites out sarcastically, fists clenching into the down comforter. "Yea, I saw him."

His eyes are downcast, but the turbulence there frightens her.

"You can't keep all of this to yourself," Elena tries hesitantly. "You can tell me, whatever it is…"

Damon snorts. "No, I can't."

"You think I can't handle it?"

"I think you shouldn't have to," he snips back, deflating the self-righteous bubble she was feeding.

"We're in this together," she wants to reach out to him, but the Damon that held her close last night hardly seems present now.

"Are we?" he challenges her.

It stings.

"Yes," she says anyway. He lashes out—this is what he does. She wishes she could convince herself that Stefan was the only one hurting him.

She really should just go…

"You want to know that Stefan is murdering people?" he holds her gaze. "That your precious hero is killing, and he's _enjoying_ it?"

It's different somehow, hearing it out loud. She feels the numbness, just on the edge—like a familiar blanket just begging to be used.

"Yes, I do," she makes herself say. She has to be strong. "If that's what's happening, I need to know."

Damon shakes his head, standing, walking to the window. "No one needs to know what I'm seeing…" he speaks, so softly she almost doesn't hear it.

Elena moves to stand behind him. "How bad is it?" she hates how weak her voice sounds.

He doesn't look at her, which is enough to make her feel like a tons of bricks just settled on her lungs.

"I don't want to be the one that dirties your image of him, Elena," he speaks at last, the smallest trace of resentment creeping in.

Elena swallows on that, flashes on moments passed over, when Damon was loath to correct the black and white mantles she had first assigned the two brothers. Moments that made her think she didn't know Stefan or Damon at all. Even now, she's still peeling back all the layers of gray—but she thinks this one might hurt the most.

"What does my image of him matter if it's wrong? Incomplete? I need the truth," she searches for resolve. "You're the only one who can give that to me."

He's silent for so long she starts to think he's going to keep her in ignorance despite her pleas.

"Once," he says slowly, "I followed Stefan out to a mining town in Montana. I liked wearing the cowboy hats," he adds with the ghost of a smirk. "Close to town, I passed a wagon on the trail—not so suspicious, except for the smell of blood assaulting me from every side. I stopped to investigate, thinking at worst I'd find a few dead settlers. But they were savaged—bloody, bodies twisted in impossible positions, eyes open in terror."

Elena feels the dread rising in her throat. Somehow she never remembers that the '_truth_,' for all its sparkle, isn't so easy to hear.

"I hardly believed my little brother capable of such a thing," Damon goes on. He's still watching the sun rise through the trees, but Elena can see the pain in his eyes, no matter how well he thinks he hides it. "But when I finally made it to the little line of storefronts in the valley, I realized I was wrong. The scene in the wagon was repeated everywhere I looked—a whole town decimated—bodies in the street, heaved over counters—tortured, raped, drained. It was like some special circle of hell."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispers shakily. She knows she asked, but she had never really expected… Hadn't known…

Damon finally turns back to look at her. "It's easy to forget what it looks like with him."

"What _what_ looks like?"

"Gone."

He starts to walk away. Elena wants to call out, to make him stay, but she's frozen. Stefan had tried to warn her himself, once—he'd said he was a monster—but it had been so hard to reconcile his words with the guy she knew. She thought she'd already seen him off the deep end.

She's starting to understand that whatever she's seen was barely the kiddie pool.

Still… "I can't give up on him," she says at last. For so many reasons, that's true, but it's not only for the reasons she can tell Damon thinks.

"Good," he says at last, hand on the doorknob. "When we get him back, he's going to need you."

This cuts, but not as much as the look on his face. "He'll need you, too."

"Hmmmm…" a corner of Damon's mouth lifts sadly as he turns away with no further response.

_He'll need _us_—you _and_ me_.

And what if, some days, that's what she needs, too?

No matter; the door closes anyway.

* * *

><p>"Elena said she's going out with Bonnie, tonight," Alaric says as they turn onto the Lockwood's long and meandering driveway.<p>

"And you thought that was a _good_ idea, Mr. Guardian-Man? A _safe_ idea?" Damon asks archly.

Ric rolls his eyes. "You _do_ know you can't just lock her up in her room until all of this is over, right? Though I grant you it would make all the avoiding you do a tad bit easier."

Damon raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, man, you're like a pair of unpredictable magnets—one side sticks together, one side repels. Which one is it today?"

Damon narrows his eyes, but doesn't bother denying it. Last night and this morning are proof enough of Alaric's crude analogy—though the _why_ of it all is a little more complicated. "Got it all figured out, do you?"

Alaric holds up his hands with an easy smile. "No need to get pissy. "

"You're a real pain, you know that?" Damon says, but he's not going to try to explain the ever-deepening nexus of conundrum he's found himself in. He can't have her—for so many reasons, including more than a few that start with 'Stefan'—but he has to keep her close.

"Anyhow," Ric says dryly. "My whole point in bringing this up was to suggest a guy's night in."

"Did we all fall into a sitcom and no one told me?" Damon mocks.

Alaric, as usual, ignores the snide remark. It's one of the things Damon appreciates about him. "I think Jeremy could use a little fun," the teacher explains, "what with the whole visitations by ex-girlfriends and witchy-mojo blocking problems with the current one. Anyone would need a break from all that."

"Yes, but do _I _really need to be there?"

"Yes," Ric says succinctly. It doesn't exactly give Damon a lot to argue with. "I have beer, the first two Godfather movies, and plenty of poker chips. You can't say no to that."

Damon would beg to differ, but they've pulled up at the Lockwood estate. "Fine," he agrees. "But don't complain when I take all your money."

"Wouldn't dream of it…"

The two police officers stationed on the porch nod at Damon as he approaches. He knocks on the door, surprised when Carol answers so quickly.

"_Damon_," she breathes. "It's so nice to see a friendly face; can you believe what Liz—" she stops short when she sees Alaric. "Mr. Saltzman," she says coolly, "I didn't see you there."

"Mayor Lockwood," Alaric tilts his head respectfully.

"You can trust Ric," Damon smiles his most reassuring smile at Carol. "He's saved my life on more than one occasion. May we come in?"

She looks a little skeptical, but stands aside to allow them entrance. Damon can't fail to note the cumbersome ankle bracelet keeping Carol on house arrest. He knows Liz thinks she's keeping the town—and, more importantly in her view, Caroline—safe by neutralizing the werewolf threat. But Damon still thinks following any instructions from Jasper Fell is asking for trouble. Besides, most of the Lockwoods know little and less about werewolves, from what he can tell—hardly a threat, compared to what else lies out in the great wide world…

"Tea?" Carol asks. "I was just making some."

"Please," Damon smiles again as he and Ric follow her into the kitchen.

"Sherriff Forbes has told you what she's doing, I presume?" Carol inquires once they're all seated.

Damon nods.

"She doesn't have a case," Carol rearranges her dress primly. "But she wants to know where Tyler is."

"_Do_ you know where he is?" Damon plays along.

"No," Carol says, an edge of worry in her voice. "But even if I did…"

Damon is a little surprised, after the last conversation between mother and son that he overheard. "If Tyler is a werewolf…" he leaves the rest hanging.

Carol glances at Alaric again. "Neither of you has ever had children, have you?"

"No, ma'am," Ric supplies.

"I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I've forgotten to be a mother first," she takes a breath. "I've already pushed Tyler away more times than I'd care to count, and I can't say that knowing he could be some _monster_ is easy to swallow. But the thought of what Jasper Fell would do with him if he could…" she puts a hand to her mouth with a little shudder. She drops it back to her lap, looking them both in the eye once more. "I've already lost a husband—I can't lose my son, too."

Damon nods again. Maybe the tides are finally shifting in Mystic Falls… Then again, being trapped in a lonely corner will change tunes and bring clarity with a certain quickness.

"I wish I'd had a chance to tell him that," Carol continues. "But at least he's away from here… Maybe he's safe."

Alaric catches Damon's eye. Damon grits his teeth—no use dwelling on just how _unsafe_ Tyler is. "He's out of Jasper's reach, at least," Damon takes a sip of his tea. He can't afford to come down on one side of this argument or the other. Not yet, anyway. "And Liz is just doing her job—you haven't exactly given her much choice."

"Well, if she would show this much tenacity when it came to tracking down vampires," Carol practically spits.

_Ah, so the old prejudices remain… _If only Carol had another son who could be a vampire, this would all be a good deal easier. Or perhaps if Carol and Liz could agree on anything other than mutual enmity—and, ironically, trusting Damon—between the two of them…

"Speaking of vampires," Alaric clears his throat. "You remember the man, Elijah, who was in town doing research?"

"Of course," Carol frowns. "What of him?"

"We have reason to believe he might be one of them," Ric explains, "a vampire, that is."

Carol looks shocked, and more than a little afraid. "Really? I had him in my house…"

"He was in a lot of our houses," Damon concedes. "Did he ever mention to you where he might be staying? Working?"

Carol thinks for a moment before shaking her head. "No… I'm sorry. Has he already left town?"

"We think so," Alaric says, as Damon tries to hide his disappointment. They're running out of rocks to turn over.

"We should get going," Damon stands. "Thank you for the tea, Carol."

The older woman nods, walking them to the door. "Keep me posted, will you?" she asks as Alaric heads down the steps two at a time. She holds Damon back as he starts to follow.

"I reacted so poorly," she whispers urgently, "when Tyler…" she stops short of actually saying 'when Tyler admitted he was a werewolf,' but the implication is clear. "But I just keep thinking how little we know about these werewolves—what if we're wrong about them? About some of them, at least?" her eyes are begging Damon to agree with her.

"Maybe so," Damon allows. He has no love for the creatures as a rule, but if only she knew… He's walking among the blind and deaf—it's damned exhausting.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" she asks hesitantly.

Damon thinks back to his own father, and lies. "I'm sure he knows how much you love him," Damon gently detaches himself from her grasp. "Try not to worry, Carol—this will all be cleared up soon."

Damon walks away, and doesn't let himself look back.

* * *

><p>Caroline is dirty and sweaty and tired. Her hair is a mess and her jeans are ripped in a few places. She's sure she must smell <em>fantastic<em>. But a few days slinking around in the forest will do that to a girl.

The hunger, though, it's the hunger that's the worst.

There aren't exactly a lot of people around Klaus' makeshift compound, and Caroline is reluctant to leave Tyler for too long. But she has to feed, and she remembers Damon's warning about surviving on animals.

For once, she's willing to follow his advice.

But his other words about the lure of the fresh blood ring in her ears every time she finds herself a meal, and it's all she can do to keep herself in check. Once, she waited too long and nearly drank too much from the poor guy she'd entrapped with a hitchhiker's signal and a pretty smile. But somehow she'd stopped herself in time—she was sure Stefan's voice was in her head then, too, reminding her that _she_ had the control. Pulling back, shaking, she'd given the guy a sip of her blood for good measure and fled.

Caroline uses these moments away to call Damon and give her friends an update on what they were learning—which was a surprising amount, actually. She wouldn't dream that Klaus actually _trusts_ Tyler, but there are little nuggets of information spilling out here and there.

Some of this Damon already knows, from his own visions. Caroline surmises from what Elena has told her that these episodes are starting to take a toll on the elder Salvatore. But selfishly, Caroline feels a little less alone knowing that someone else is seeing some of what she's seeing. Especially when it comes to Stefan…

Caroline couldn't believe her eyes the first time she got close enough to really see him. When she slipped into one of the little side sheds one night, she thinks she's walked into Silence of the Lambs.

She understands the call to kill, the lure of the blood, the sweet taste of fear, but she doesn't understand _this_. She doesn't recognize the feral look of satisfaction that crosses her friend's face under the moonlight.

"He's not under compulsion, Caroline," Damon had told her after that first night, when she insisted that Klaus must be controlling Stefan in some way—that there was no way he could be capable of such horror. "There's a part of Stefan that _likes_ this. You and I are fuzzy little teddy bears next to him."

Caroline is starting to believe it.

And that _terrifies_ her.

There's a little spiral of smoke emerging from one of the ruined plantation house's chimneys, just now, signifying the return of the witches. They prefer the old house where they can keep a fire going. Caroline creeps as near as she dares—usually she can't get so close and has to rely on her hearing, but most everyone seems to be in the old parlor tonight and there aren't so many sentries to skirt around.

"—is good news, Tyler," Klaus is saying when she gets within earshot, quickly settles herself behind an overgrown thicket of bushes under the window. "Balon tells me we'll be ready for your friends by tomorrow."

Balon was the most powerful warlock in Klaus' little troupe, Caroline knew. He'd been gone for the past day and a half, but Caroline wasn't sure where.

"Have you made any headway?" Klaus asks, almost flippant.

"Not…" Tyler takes a deep breath, "not really… They're distrustful, they need more convincing."

"I thought you said they'd listen to you," Klaus speaks, low and dangerous. "Don't tell me it's not as easy as you led me to believe…"

"It'll just take a little longer," Tyler says quickly.

In truth, Caroline doesn't think he's been trying that hard. He has to say _something_, of course, with at least two of Klaus' minions escorting him wherever he goes. But she can tell he's reluctant to get any of the werewolves caught up in Klaus' plans.

"You have one day," Klaus commands shortly. "I'm eager to have other hybrids alongside me…"

"How will that work?" Tyler asks.

_Good_, Caroline thinks, _keep him talking_.

As much as Klaus likes to hear the sound of his own voice, he never speaks idly. Even when Caroline tries to follow him instead of Tyler, she can rarely get close—and when she does, she learns little and less. She's afraid to press her luck.

"Curious, are we?" she can hear the grin in Klaus' voice. "I suppose it can't hurt…" he pauses, his footsteps echoing across the rotted wooden floor. "Balon assures me there are two ways to make a hybrid—the weaker version is more similar to a vampire, a person who dies after drinking my blood. They probably won't be able to transform, but they'll have much of the other benefits of the wolf—strength, agility, enhanced senses. We can easily turn large groups at once with Stefan, here—you'll like that, won't you Stef?"

There's another pause, but Stefan doesn't say anything aloud, anyway. Caroline has only actually heard his voice twice since she's been here—both times it sent a chill through her very core.

"And the stronger version?" Tyler asks.

"Born werewolves, like you and me," Klaus is walking again. "Turning them to vampires won't make them Originals, but they will be nigh invincible with the powers of both races. And that's where your comrades come in."

"I don't know if they'll like the idea of being vampires," Tyler balks.

"Well they won't have much of a choice, will they?" Klaus answers quickly. "Perhaps we should try Balon's theories out on you first—you can tell them how wonderful all of that power is. How _delicious_ to be able to transform at will."

"Transform at will..?"

Caroline winces at the genuine temptation she can hear in Tyler's voice at this idea.

"Oh, yes…" Klaus says enticingly.

"The transition won't be easy," Stefan finally speaks up—a dull, flat tone. "It'll hardly help him sell the wolves on the idea in the early days and weeks."

Caroline isn't sure what to make of this—is this just twisted good sense speaking, or is something of her friend still in there?

"Hmmm…" Klaus ponders. "I suppose we don't want our poster boy chomping at the bit _just_ yet… Leave me," he says suddenly, "I need to think." Ten pairs of footsteps start to shuffle to life inside. "Stefan, you can stay."

Tyler exits the front door between a witch and warlock. Caroline yearns to go to him—she's only been able to catch him on his own once, and then it was barely enough time to whisper a word of encouragement.

But even if she had wanted to, she can't risk moving—and she can't afford to give up her choice hiding place.

She resigns herself to another long night, settling back against the peeling paint of the siding, the dull ache in her chest a familiar companion.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry…" Bonnie is saying quietly as Alaric starts to exit the kitchen. He stops himself when he catches a glimpse of the strained look on Jeremy's face, thinks he should turn on his heel and give them some privacy. "Look," she goes on, handing Jeremy a notebook and a few old tomes, "this is everything I could find on spirits and hauntings. Maybe there's something…"<p>

"Yea," Jeremy takes the books with an unreadable expression, "maybe…"

They don't seem likely to say more, so Alaric continues his progress into the parlor, clearing his throat to announce his presence in case he's wrong. The two teenagers jump apart—not that they were terribly close to begin with.

"What do we know?" Damon is coming in from the library as Elena descends the stairs. They glance at each other for a long moment before taking places on opposite sides of the room.

Alaric sighs inwardly—their dwindling group is in dire need of some morale boosting. And these little fissures aren't helping.

"Nothing new on Elijah," Alaric says. "Elena and I asked around town some more, and Jeremy continued with the research, but he's just… disappeared."

"I can't locate him, either," Bonnie admits. "Maybe if we had more to go on…"

Damon is gripping the back of the sofa but for once he doesn't lose his temper. Alaric wonders if he's getting used to the disappointment. "Caroline called early this morning," he reports. "Klaus is ready to start making hybrids."

Everyone sits up a little straighter. "Well, we have to stop him," Bonnie supplies unnecessarily.

"You don't say?" Damon mocks. "And here I thought we all just _enjoyed_ twiddling our thumbs."

Ric knows there's a part of his friend that would very much like to go back to _not_ caring about the world at large—in fact, Ric finds the idea rather appealing himself, oftentimes. But then there's the part that knows getting Stefan back is only the tip of the iceberg.

"You don't have to be mean," Jeremy says sullenly in Damon's general direction. Bonnie looks like it's the nicest thing she's heard in days.

Damon puts on a pout. "But I like it _so_ very much," he approximates a petulant whine.

"Enough," Elena frowns, "we need—" she starts, but is silenced by a knock at the door.

Alaric looks around the room, wondering who else would be coming here. And who would knock…

"Ms. Wheeler," he says, surprised, when he opens the door. The room has gone deathly still behind him.

"Mr. Saltzman," Prudence Wheeler says with a feigned smile. "What a pleasure to find you at home. May I come in?"

"Can I stop you..?" Alaric mutters under his breath as the prim little woman sidles by, clipboard in hand.

Damon has come over to the entryway. "Now's not a very good time, Ms. Wheeler."

"Oh?" she can barely suppress the grin. "Then it's a good thing I'm here—such times are _exactly_ when a surprise home visit ought to be."

She starts poking around the room, the teenagers sitting still as statues as she goes. She tuts over the liquor cart and the array of no doubt curious-looking weapons Alaric had been repairing that morning.

"Is there something in particular you're looking for?" Damon asks evenly.

"Not especially," Prudence says cheerfully. "Though I'm glad to see there are plenty of items here to support my argument," she stops to address them. "I told you I wouldn't stop working on your case, you know. And when the Mayor—who so strongly vouched for you—was put under house arrest…" she trails off with a self-satisfied shrug. "Well, it was just the sort of breach in credibility I was hoping for."

"I'm sure that's just a misunderstanding," Alaric tries to stem the mounting tide that he can feel coming on. "And Sherriff Forbes also said—"

"Yes," she cuts him off with a sharp look. "But the Sherriff has been _awfully_ hard to reach lately," she smiles again. "But when I was waiting outside her office the other day, I met the _nicest_ young man."

Alaric sees Damon stiffen beside him.

"Oh yes," Prudence seems to be enjoying the uneasy silence in the room. "Young Mr. Fell had the most interesting things to say," she goes on. "I think it will be easy to show my superiors at social services now just how unsuitable this living arrangement is… And if I were you, Mr. Salvatore," she turns her gaze on Damon, "I would make my next steps _very_ carefully."

"I don't know what Jasper Fell has been telling you," Damon is obviously fighting to keep a calm, placating expression. "But I can assure you—"

"I've had enough of your assurances," Prudence snaps. Alaric is starting to think it was a mistake, humiliating her to get custody of Elena and Jeremy. "Now, come along, children."

Prudence starts to pull Jeremy up by the elbow, but the kid snatches it away. "I'm not going anywhere with you," Jeremy spits.

"You _will_," Prudence insists, "and you will do it without complaint. Or I promise you that life will get very—"

There's a sudden flash of movement that Alaric can't quite track, but Damon obviously can. The vampire is no longer at his side but moving across the room, yelling "_Katherine—no!_" as he goes.

It all happens so fast that the rest of them barely have time to blink before the scene settles on Damon and Katherine, facing off over the crumpled body of Prudence Wheeler.

"_Please_," the elder vampire rolls her eyes, "don't tell me you didn't want to do the same thing." Katherine smiles maniacally at the look of pure loathing on Damon's face.

Elena is kneeling down beside the caseworker. "_You killed her_," she breathes incredulously, staring wide-eyed up at her doppelganger.

Katherine's grin just widens as she hitches a shoulder, "You're welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please leave a review, if you can spare a moment!**


	11. The World You Thought You Lived In

**Author's Note: Wow, guys - I have gotten terribly behind, haven't I? Sorry to say a hellish week or two of work and some travel have really slowed my pace on writing and updating. But I'm here now and hoping to get back on track. Can you forgive me?**

**Originally I'd hoped to finish this before the new season started - obviously that isn't going to happen, but I hope this will hold your interest enough to stick with me. I think we're about halfway through, and again, my goal is to pick up the pace (just as the story's action is picking up speed with a vengeance).**

**I've been enjoying writing this and am deeply appreciative of your readership, support, and particularly your reviews. I hope you'll keep it coming!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

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><p><strong><em>Eleven: The World You Thought You Lived In<em>**

* * *

><p><em>It all happens so fast that the rest of them barely have time to blink before the scene settles on Damon and Katherine, facing off over the crumpled body of Prudence Wheeler. <em>

_"_Please_," the elder vampire rolls her eyes, "don't tell me you didn't want to do the same thing." Katherine smiles maniacally at the look of pure loathing on Damon's face. _

_Elena is kneeling down beside the caseworker. "_You killed her_," she breathes incredulously, staring wide-eyed up at her doppelganger. _

_Katherine's grin just widens as she hitches a shoulder, "You're welcome."_

* * *

><p>Alaric feels his stomach drop out from under him, but manages to put a restraining hand on Bonnie's outstretched arm all the same. No one else needs to die here today, surely.<p>

"She was a nuisance," Katherine shrugs, crossing her arms. "And by the sounds of it, she was making far too much trouble already."

"So you _killed_ her?" Jeremy sputters.

Katherine groans irritably. "Get over it," she kicks Prudence's corpse off of her boot. "This is so much easier."

"You call a dead woman in my living room _easier_?" Damon finally speaks, still glaring at Katherine as though he can't decide how best to return the favor.

"There was a time you would have agreed with me," Katherine pouts. "What happened to that guy? I kind of liked him."

Damon growls, using his speed to push Katherine back against the far wall. "_I don't care what you like_," he says through clenched teeth.

"Mmmm..." Katherine smiles seductively, running a hand over his bicep, "have you been working out?"

"What?"

"You seem stronger," she explains, using Damon's momentary confusion to turn the tables.

"So do you," Damon grunts, as loose bits of plaster rain down on his head, shaken free by the force of Katherine's blow.

Alaric has the distinct impression that everyone else in the room is holding their breath, and reminds himself he still needs oxygen to survive.

"Now," Katherine tuts as she releases her hold on the younger vampire, "is this really any way to behave when we have a guest?"

"What guest?" Damon rubs his neck as the bruises vanish.

The emergence of a man from the shadows of the back hall makes the question moot. Not for the first time, Alaric wishes he were a little closer to the abandoned cache of weapons on the table. He really ought to start carrying one of those at all times...

"May I present Samuel Blackfire," Katherine gestures.

"This is your shaman?" Elena asks warily.

The man certainly has Native American features, and long black hair well salted with gray—though the bolo tie and faded plaid shirt don't exactly scream wise and mystical healer.

Then again, Alaric thinks, Damon doesn't prance around in Dracula's shiny black and red cape either.

"One in the same," Katherine sounds very pleased with herself. "He's going to help us with our little vision problem," she winks, a hand on Damon's shoulder. He shrugs it off.

"_Katerina_..." Samuel surveys the scene before him shrewdly, leaning down next to Prudence's still form. Elena backs away from such close proximity. "You should not dispense with life so callously."

"Good luck instilling that virtue," Alaric mutters. Everyone ignores him, though Ric thinks he sees Damon's mouth twitch with a smothered smirk.

"She was in my way," Katherine sounds for a moment like a petulant child, before her tone slides into a more threatening register. "You know what happens to people in my way..."

"Hmmm... So it is," the shaman's mouth remains set in a thin line as he regains his full height. "Much darkness is at work here," he addresses the group at large, "I will help you in what small ways I can."

"You have magic..." Bonnie speaks—she looks almost in awe. Alaric had almost forgotten she was there, as silent as she was.

"Not the same as yours, little witch," Samuel nods, "but the Mother in her wisdom has granted me some gifts, yes."

"And just how do you propose to help?" Damon crosses his arms skeptically. "We're not exactly in need of any rain dances."

Samuel ignores the jibe, his gaze shifting from Bonnie to Jeremy. Alaric would be offended on the shaman's behalf, if it weren't for the rather spotty record of Katherine's 'friends' on the trustworthiness scale.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jeremy shifts uncomfortably.

"You should heed the words of the spirits, young man," Samuel intones seriously.

Jeremy sits up a little straighter. "Can you see them?" he asks, eager but reticent as well.

"No..." the shaman smiles sadly. "But their presence is strong with you. Death cannot be ignored."

"What does that _mean_?" Bonnie asks with a hint of desperation. "What are they saying now?" she turns to Jeremy.

"Nothing," Jeremy shrugs helplessly. "Lately they sort of seem to be... waiting."

"Okay, well," Damon interrupts impatiently, "that's great and all—feel free to have a pow-wow or a spirit walk or whatever floats your canoe, but I have things to do."

"Where are you going?" Ric asks.

"I think it's high time I paid Jasper a proper visit..." Damon answers—a bit too darkly for Alaric's taste.

Damon makes a show of grabbing his jacket and stalking to the door. Alaric has half a mind to join him—this little medicine man show is convincing and all, but aren't they all buying in a little quickly? Yet before Ric can make a move, Elena has already scampered after the vampire, bag and jacket in hand.

Alaric sighs, settling in for an afternoon of reigning in the madness—shoulders preemptively tired from the shallow grave he'll be digging later.

Hopefully it'll just be the one.

* * *

><p>Something's happening. Caroline can sense it, though she'd be hard-pressed to explain how. She's learning to trust her instincts, though, so she creeps closer and closer to Klaus' ramshackle compound on silent feet.<p>

It's too quiet, even the crickets and birds seem eerily absent. Caroline has the fleeting thought that the pretty young blonde never lasts long in the horror movie.

Still, she makes her way through the trees, taking as narrow a berth around the buildings as she dares. Nothing appears particularly amiss—aside from their entire godforsaken lives, that is. She's starting to think the days alone out in the woods are finally getting to her when she sees them.

"Keep moving," one of Klaus' henchmen is saying gruffly. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Caroline takes a few steps to her right, enough to get a glimpse of Tyler being herded out of the smallest outbuilding by two of the burlier goons. She has to stifle a gasp when she sees his face.

Left eye blackened and swollen shut, split lip, a huge gash along his cheek… The scent of wolfsbane hangs heavy in the air.

Caroline feels a rush of panic surge through her chest. What did she miss? How did she not know that he was in trouble? Wasn't she here to _stop_ this sort of thing from happening?

And why on earth had she chosen the last hour to feed? Was she really _that_ hungry?

Her inner diatribe ringing in her head, Caroline tries to follow the little group, stopping short when she sees another figure emerge behind them. There's a sick twist in the pit of her stomach when she realizes it's Stefan—a hard swallow when he wipes the blood off of his knuckles.

Her hands are shaking as she slinks along the treeline, trying to keep Tyler in sight. She wants so badly to go to him, to take him home, to make this whole _stupid_ idea fade into memory.

But she can't.

_Crunch_.

Caroline winces at the unmistakable giveaway of her movement, dead leaves crumpling under her shoe. Berating herself for her carelessness and lost concentration, Caroline tries to stand absolutely still and hopes they didn't hear her.

Of course, that would mean something would have to go _right_ for her.

Tyler and his captors have moved along, but Stefan turns his head towards the noise.

_He can't see me, he can't see me, he can't see me._

But thinking it doesn't make it true. Caroline gasps as the wind is knocked out of her, Stefan's hand locked around her neck and holding her against a tree.

"_Caroline_," he whispers, almost a question. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a moment, before narrowing again. "What are you doing here?"

His palm is crushing her larynx—it hurts, but not half so much as the cold, detached look in his eyes.

"Stefan," she manages to rasp out, eyes pleading with him to see her, to be her _friend_ again—not this monster she barely recognizes.

There's the tiniest flicker in his features. It's not much, but he loosens his grip.

"_What are you doing here_?" he repeats.

"I..." she gropes for the right lie, settles on a half-truth, "I came to bring Tyler home."

Stefan stares at her for a long moment. "Did you?" he asks. "Or have you been here all along?"

_Yes_, she thinks. Yes, this is all part of the plan—to stop Klaus, to bring you back from this miserable existence. All part of the plan that is going quickly and horribly wrong.

But, she realizes with an inexplicable sadness, she can't say any of this—the Stefan standing in front of her, the one she's been watching the last few days—he isn't one she trusts. So instead all she says is "No," as firmly as she can.

She can tell Stefan doesn't quite believe her. "Go home, Caroline," his tone is that of a dead man, "Tyler made his choice—leave him to it."

_He made his choice, and I made mine._

_Did you make yours?_

"I can't do that," she says defiantly, even if she's in no position to argue. "Not when Tyler is in trouble."

Stefan starts to walk away. "There's nothing you can do," he says flatly. "You can't hope to stop Klaus—especially not by yourself."

This is true, but she has to try. "What about you?" she calls after him, desperate.

"What about me?" Stefan keeps his back to her.

"You can help me," she pleads, "help Tyler."

"You know I can't, Caroline." For a moment, he almost sounds like himself again. "I made a deal. If I break it, Klaus will come after you, after _all_ of you," his voice tightens. "Tyler can take a few punches."

She can't believe he's willing to just go along with Klaus' twisted whims and deceptive promises. The Stefan she knows always finds another option.

_But the Stefan she knows..._

"What, like all the people dead or dying in that shed over there took a few punches?" Caroline spits, hands on her hips before she can remember to be afraid again.

His shoulders stiffen, but he still won't turn to look at her. "Klaus needs Tyler, he didn't need them," he says, devoid of emotion, no evidence of remorse.

"What kind of excuse is that?" she throws back, disgusted. Somewhere in the back of her mind she can hear Damon's voice telling her to run away while she still can, but she's too far into this now.

"Go home, Caroline," Stefan starts to walk away again. "Don't come back."

Caroline bites her lip in frustration. They're slipping away from her, Tyler _and_ Stefan, but she refuses to become that helpless little girl again. "You're not going to tell Klaus I'm here?" she asks, finds some absurd hope in the realization.

Stefan stops his progress. Caroline has half a mind to run around him just to make him look her in the face.

"No," he answers. Succinct.

"Because you still care," she asserts—she's just rolling with whatever small triumph she can.

Her elation, such as it is, is short-lived.

"Don't put that on me," he practically snarls, turning back at last. Her heads snaps painfully back against the tree as he pins her there by the shoulders. "Don't look for answers just because you want them to be there. _Don't try to save me, Caroline_." His eyes are darkening as his fangs elongate—for a second Caroline remembers afresh what it feels like to be a victim. "There are a thousand reasons to not tell Klaus," he continues, grip so tight she can feel her bones cracking, "none of them have anything to do with _caring_."

"_Name one_," she grits out.

"Let me see…" he pretends to think, alit with maniacal glee. "Maybe knowing you're there—watching, _helpless_—when Klaus puts Tyler through whatever special hell he has planned... maybe it will make his punishment that much sweeter to witness," Stefan's voice drops to a place she's never heard before. A place of pure malevolence that flows like satin off his tongue.

The worst part is, there's a part of her that could believe him.

She's going to be sick.

He releases her with one sudden movement, zooming away in a sudden burst of speed. She sinks to her knees on the forest floor for a long moment, struggling to take a deep breath. Every time she closes her eyes she sees Stefan's face—dark, menacing.

So she just won't close her eyes.

She stares off in the direction he ran, in the direction Tyler was taken. Pushing herself to her feet, she follows.

* * *

><p>"And just <em>where<em> do you think you're going?" Damon stops short of opening his car door to stare at her.

Elena returns the glare as best she can—which isn't as well as usual, still. "With you," she answers simply.

"Like hell you are," Damon scoffs, rolling his eyes with a sigh when she doesn't move to leave. "You know I could just dispense with the car and speed on over there, right?"

"But you won't," Elena challenges, more confident than she feels.

They're like five-year-olds in a staring contest for a moment before Damon grudgingly opens the driver's side door. "Well," he calls from inside, "don't make me wait."

The drive to Jasper Fell's apartment is mostly spent in tense silence. Elena hates it. She hates the up and down, the back and forth, the never knowing where she stands with him. She wants the easiness back—the way they could so effortlessly just move in sync, even just for a second, before one of them remembers that they can't.

And she hates that she wants that.

"You're not going to kill him," she says at last.

"Says you…" Damon mutters darkly.

"_Damon…_" she shoots him a warning glance.

Damon's jaw twitches—in frustration or dark humor, Elena isn't sure. "You're no fun."

"And you're better than Katherine," she counters seriously. Elena can't help but flash to the image of Ms. Wheeler on the Boarding House floor. She didn't like the woman, but no one deserves that… not for doing their job, anyway. "Don't stoop to her level."

Damon's expression darkens. "Is this going to be another 'be the better man' speech?" he mocks her. "Because I've really had enough of those. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to try and reform the bad boy? Especially when you're not offering up anything in return."

Elena feels the heat rise in her cheeks. "You _are_ the better man," she insists quietly.

"Better than who, exactly?" he asks, holding up a hand before she can answer. "No, don't bother. I don't want to hear it. You wanted to come along for this ride, so you'll just have to deal with whatever comes next or maintain a shred of ignorance and wait in the car."

Elena isn't sure what it means that she doesn't argue further. Maybe she's lost the will to fight any harder. Maybe she trusts that he won't do anything _too_ stupid.

Jasper doesn't seem exactly surprised to see them on his doorstep, but his smile falters somewhat as he ushers them in.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks politely, standing warily against the kitchenette counter.

"No need, we won't be staying long," Damon crosses his arms. "But I'll thank you not to spread any more unfounded rumors about me."

To his credit, Jasper doesn't bother equivocating. "_Unfounded_?" he raises an eyebrow. "You have a strange knack for attracting trouble, Damon—even if most of the time you appear to save the day. But I'm not so sure… There are several known werewolves who were last seen in the vicinity of your home. Not to mention your family's ties to vampires… Did you know there was _another_ Damon and Stefan Salvatore, back in mid 1800s? _Quite_ curious."

That self-righteous smile _is_ maddening.

"_God_," Damon pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're like John Gilbert reincarnated," he mutters. "I always knew that man would come back to haunt me…"

"Reincarnated?" Jasper pounces. "So John _is_ dead?"

"I couldn't say for certain," Damon looks up, recovers as best he can. Elena can feel her heart thumping in her chest as the intensity in the room ratchets up a few levels. "But people do have a nasty habit of kicking the bucket around here, as your cousin learned," he adds with a hint of menace.

"John said you'd know more about Logan," Jasper replies smoothly enough, though his eyes are like chips of fire. "Neither of them trusted you."

"Smart men," Damon advances a step.

"Damon…" Elena finds her voice, standing transfixed at the doorway.

He ignores her.

"So you're saying I shouldn't trust you either?" Jasper crosses his arms, still leaning against the counter—looking for all the world like a cornered animal. Albeit an animal with razor-sharp claws.

Damon shrugs, all feigned nonchalance. "I wouldn't trust others to do my dirty work for me," he grins malevolently, "never works out quite how you expect…"

This gets Jasper's attention, at least. Elena wonders if he'll regret feeding Prudence information if he ever finds out what happened to her. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying, when you want something done right, it's best to do it yourself—or face the consequences. With this high horse you've come riding in on, I'm sure you wouldn't want some innocent person's blood on your hands…"

Elena is sure her heart is going to fly right out of her chest.

Jasper maintains his composure, but only just. "I'm guessing you're not so troubled by the idea?"

Damon shrugs again, stepping into Jasper's personal space. "I'm just saying… I _always_ do my own dirty work," he leans forward, "I enjoy it _far_ too much to do otherwise."

Elena can see the little beads of sweat forming on Jasper's forehead even as he stands his ground. She's starting to contemplate her options for keeping the day's body count low—and starting to berate herself for being foolish enough to come along on this little intimidation scheme—when Damon miraculously turns away.

"Come on, Elena," he says, as though they've just been discussing the weather, "I think our friend needs a little time alone... he ought to ponder his next move carefully. No undue distractions…"

The look of trepidation on Jasper's face is the last thing she sees before Damon pulls her out the door.

* * *

><p>"—they tell me you kept your mouth shut," Klaus is saying when Caroline regains her new favorite hiding spot under the drawing room window. Night has fallen completely by now, shrouding the world in its dark velvet cloak. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell <em>me<em>..?"

There's a silence, and it's killing Caroline not knowing what's going on inside. She shouldn't risk peeking in, but she knows she's instinctively using that little switch to dull the edge of her fear—and it's leaving her feeling reckless. She peers over the edge of the windowsill just in time to see Tyler shaking his head stubbornly.

"No?" Klaus leans toward his captive, hands clasped behind his back. "Very well, I'll paint a picture for you. I'm quite good at painting, you know…"

The Original begins to pace the length of the room, past Stefan, and several of his warlocks and other minions.

"You see, you're only alive right now because you claim to be of use to me," Klaus goes on, in a tone as casual as if he were telling a particularly amusing bedtime story. "You have claimed that you can bring other werewolves over to my side."

"I can," Tyler insists past his swollen lip, spitting out a gob of blood on the floor.

"Oh? And where are these new followers, pray tell? Are they hiding under the floor boards?" he stamps his foot, speeds over to a closed and warping door. "In the closet?"

"_Just need more time_..." Tyler manages to say. Caroline thinks he looks like he's about to fall over.

She fights the urge to rush in and hold him up.

"More time to dissuade them all, you mean?" Klaus whispers dangerously.

Tyler's eyes widen.

"Oh yes," Klaus smiles, "I know about your subterfuge. I thought I warned you not to cross me."

Tyler shakes his head, eyes still wide, saying nothing.

"Still playing the dumb brute?" Klaus resumes his theatrical pacing. "As you wish... You see, your first mistake was thinking you knew everything—a classic error of youth... But he who you thought was a warlock," he pauses to put his hand on one of his followers' shoulders, "is _actually_ a vampire."

The marked man let's his vamp face show, in case there was any doubt. Tyler looks puzzled—and now more nervous than defiant.

"Yes," Klaus continues, "I know what you're thinking—_why couldn't I sniff him out?_ But tell me, do any scents really stand out to you at present? Doesn't Pete, here, smell like a fresh bouquet of roses? Stefan is awash in fresh-cut cedar, I'm sure..."

The sarcasm is palpable, but the underlying point apparently true. "How..?" Tyler asks, disbelief evident on his face.

"Magic, of course," Klaus shrugs. "You don't think I lasted this long without a few tricks up my sleeve, do you?" he pauses for a moment. "So... I think you're starting to get a better idea of just how _deep_ a predicament you're in, yes?"

Caroline can see that Tyler does, but she's still lost. And she's furious that there's nothing she can do. What did she think was going to happen? She runs in to save the day—just so they both get captured or killed a second later?

_Why did she think she could protect him?_

She was supposed to watch and listen—gather information, report back, get them out before something like this went down. And she failed even in that.

"So let me take you back to this morning," Klaus continues. "You visit the humble home of one of your latest prospects—Melissa, was it?—and instead of telling her what an _exciting_ new life awaits with me, you end up cautioning her to stay away—to _run_. You thought no one would hear you—your guards were outside, you spoke in a whisper... But that's where we come back to Pete—being a vampire, he didn't have much trouble hearing through the thin metal walls of a trailer home."

The gray skies that have been threatening all day finally open up, a steady rain beginning to fall on Caroline's head as she watches—just as helpless as Stefan had predicted.

"I—" Tyler falters, looking around the room, a growing sense of desperation in his eyes. "I didn't mean—she has a _daughter_," he blurts at last.

"Ahhh... Sentimentality, then? I'm afraid I don't have much use for that either. But I am not so unaware as you might think..." he gestures to a corner Caroline can't see. A door opens, and a girl no older than eight is shuffled into the room. Her brown ringlets are tangled and the tear-tracks run clearly down her dirty cheeks.

Caroline, momentarily transfixed, sees her own fear personified in this little child's features.

"Come here, sweetheart," Klaus beckons with the most saccharine of smiles, "I _know_, you miss your Mummy, _yes_..." He looks back at Tyler. "I believe this is the daughter in question?"

Tyler struggles against his bonds to no avail. "_What did you do to Melissa_?" he grits out.

Klaus covers the girl's ears. "_Shhh_," he chides with a grin, "we haven't told poor Margo here she's an orphan just yet."

"You _bastard_," Tyler spits.

"Yes," Klaus agrees, "as a matter of fact, I am." He twirls one of the girl's curls on his finger. "But that's no way to stay on my good side."

Tyler looks like he has very little interest in doing any such thing, but he somehow manages to keep his anger in check. Caroline silently begs him to play along just a little bit longer—just long enough to get through these next few minutes, hours maybe, and they'll get out of here. _Just a little bit longer..._

"And how would I get on your good side?" Tyler asks, jaw clenched.

"Funny you should ask," Klaus replies, as if he's been waiting for this all day. "You see, I'm not usually one to believe in second chances, but I'm willing to give you the opportunity to prove your loyalty."

"How..?" Tyler asks guardedly.

Caroline has a bad feeling about this...

Klaus smiles wide as the Cheshire cat. He leans down to little Margo, eyes focused with compulsion. "Don't be afraid," he instructs, "and don't make a peep," he adds, popping her nose lightly with his index finger.

Klaus prods her in front of Tyler, before walking around to stand behind him and speak into his ear. Tyler tries valiantly not to flinch.

"_You_, my friend," Klaus speaks magnanimously, "will have the honor of creating our first hybrid."

"_Her_?" Tyler asks incredulously. "She's just a little kid."

"Children have their uses," Klaus shrugs. "Besides, we wouldn't want to leave the little pup all alone in this world..."

Tyler stares at her, her big wide eyes, shakes his head.

Caroline's nails break the skin of her palms as she clenches her fists. It starts to rain harder.

"No?" Klaus is almost whispering now. "She already has my blood in her system, she'll... live, in a manner of speaking. Just do it—snap her neck, perhaps—quick and painless, and no one else has to get hurt..."

Tyler shakes his head again, and Caroline can see the resolve in his eyes. Some callous, selfish part of her says this girl is going to die anyway, if Tyler did it at least he'd save himself a world of hurt. But she's disgusted with herself for even thinking it, and one more look at Margo's wide glassy eyes and Caroline knows she'd never be able to do it either. When Tyler says "No," plain and simple, she feels a fierce surge of pride.

Klaus sighs heavily. "Very well... Stefan?"

_Stefan_.

Caroline's gaze shoots over to her friend as he moves toward Margo, feels her hopes shift to him once more, can't stand the thought of having them dashed again against a hard reality.

_Stefan, do something. Help her, help Tyler, help me._

_Do anything. Anything good._

_Please_.

"Stefan..." Tyler is saying as the vampire kneels down in front of Margo, an impassive expression firmly affixed. "Stefan don't do this..." he begins to struggle against his bonds again, but Klaus easily holds him still.

Stefan's back is to Tyler and Klaus as he crouches low, snakes a hand across Margo's shoulder. If Caroline's heart was still beating it would be playing a symphony of drums, hard and fast.

_Do something, do anything. Not this. Please. Please..._

But in a moment it's done, and Margo is sprawled on the floor.

"_No_..." Tyler let's out a low moan.

_God, just let it be over._

_Send him away, back to the shed... Something, anything... Just give us a chance to run._

Caroline thinks they never should have come in the first place.

Klaus is shaking his head in disapproval. "What a shame," he tuts softly, with the briefest of glances at Tyler, "I had such high hopes..."

There's barely a movement, hardly a flick of the Original's wrist—but the end result is clear. Only Caroline can't believe it. Blinks her eyes furiously, shakes her head wordlessly.

Because it _can't_ be.

But it is.

Stefan has whipped around at the sound, eyes wide, mouth open in silent exclamation. It's his own look of shock—so jarring amongst the features he's kept so purposefully blank—that forces Caroline to believe this is really happening.

But the earth is skittering off its axis, all sound and color has left the world, replaced by a cacophonous whoosh of blankness in her ears, everything bright and good leeched out into gray nothingness. The rain continues to beat down around her, mingling with the tears that are flowing unchecked. She thinks she should scream, cry out, run at Klaus with fists flying. But she can't speak. Can't move.

Can only stare.

Because Tyler is lying motionless at Klaus' feet, head twisted in a grotesque angle, dead.

* * *

><p>"This is stupid," Damon mutters, opening his eyes in frustration. "It's not going to work."<p>

"It is," the old shaman says calmly, the candle flames dancing in his dark eyes.

"Just keep trying, Damon," Elena says from the edge of the couch. Damon glowers at her. He feels silly enough sitting cross-legged in a circle of incense and candles on his living room floor without her watching him.

"Katerina was not unsuccessful," Samuel offers.

"_Of course she wasn't_," Damon says darkly. But Katherine wants to get rid of the visions—much as he hates them, Damon can't afford to lose one of the few leads they have. Controlling it is the most he can hope for.

"It will take time," Samuel continues. "Katerina mastered only the first stage today, but I believe you can do the same. Your will is strong."

Damon snorts at that, catches the little smile playing on Elena's lips and returns it. She smiles wider.

Pathetic that that's all it takes to give his stomach a little flip.

Elena hasn't said much since they returned from Jasper's, but she kept shooting him these looks like she's desperate to figure him out. Sometimes he wanted to shout that he isn't so complicated. _Other times..._

Other times her probing looks felt like hope.

"Bonnie said it was fascinating," Elena offers.

"Well she doesn't have to live through it, does she?" Damon retorts. But the little lonely witch isn't here now, at least, to _ooh_ and _ah_ over someone else's magic.

_They really need to get that girl a hobby..._

But Damon closes his eyes again and tries to focus. The house is quiet... Katherine is out—God knows where—and Jeremy and Alaric are a mile or so deep in the woods, digging a grave for Prudence.

Damon would rather be doing _that_, than this.

"Empty your mind," Samuel is saying in that infuriatingly calm voice, "breathe deeply, let the energy flow through you."

"I don't breathe," Damon reminds the shaman.

"Are you sure?" Samuel asks.

Damon is about to say he very much is, but there's a flash of something—a dark room, gray—peeling wallpaper—shadowy figures.

He opens his eyes, narrows them at Samuel. "Did you..?"

But the shaman just smiles softly, closing his own eyes and beginning to chant. Elena nods encouragingly.

Damon sighs in frustration, gritting his teeth as he closes his eyes again. Samuel's chanting becomes a monotonous drone, syncopating with the familiar rhythm of Elena's heartbeat, the raindrops falling on the windows.

_Drop. Beat. Drop. Beat._

_Beat. Beat. Beat..._

And then he sees it, clear as day. Clearer than any of the other visions have been, like he's Dorothy waking up in Oz with everything in Technicolor.

And what he sees isn't good.

_The world is somehow sharpened, every word spoken seems to reverberate in his head._

_"-trust you can clean this up with the rest of your mess..." Klaus' voice, a special level of apathetic evil. "Balon and Pete will stay with you, help you burn the bodies. I think we've wasted enough time in this swamp."_

_"Where will you be?" Stefan speaks. His brother... Stretched across a bridge between shell-shocked and vicious amounts of suppressed emotion._

_Anyone else might see a man who only cares about his next bloody meal, but not Damon._

_"I'll wait for you in Kentucky," Klaus' boots clank softly on the rotten floorboards._

_Stefan nods, jaw set._

_Damon's gaze—_Klaus'_ gaze—takes a final sweep around the room. Tattered remnants of a curtain, rusted hinges... a lingering look at Stefan... a body._

_A little girl in a crumpled heap._

_And Tyler._

_Tyler... very much not alive._

Damon's eyes fly open.

Elena must read the look on his face, because she's on her feet immediately. "What is it?" she takes a step toward him. "What did you see?"

"_The darkness_," Samuel answers, still utterly calm.

"Shut up, old man," Damon snaps. He's standing now, too, holding his fingers to his temples.

He needs to _think_.

Stefan is there, more or less alone. Klaus is going to Kentucky. And Tyler...

_Beat. Beat. Beat._

Tyler...

_Caroline_.

Oh, _shit_. Caroline.

He has to get to her before something else... He shakes his head, as if this will make his brain work faster, clearer. More _pragmatically_.

Before she does anything stupid.

_There you go._

He opens his eyes, finding Elena in front of him, watching him searchingly.

For a split second he feels his keys weighing heavy in his pocket, but even tapping out the speedometer would take too long.

He shakes his head, makes a decision.

"Call Caroline," he instructs, mind clearing with newfound purpose. "Tell her _wherever_ she is, _whatever_ she's doing, _stay there._ Do. Not. Move."

"Damon?" Elena calls after him as he starts to walk quickly to the door. Confusion is all over her face. "I don't understand. What—?"

Damon spins back around, grabs her by the shoulders. Every second wasted and they're that much closer to lost. "_Call her_," he looks Elena in the eye. "Text her, whatever you have to do, just _reach_ her. Tell her to stay where she is."

"_Damon_—" she starts again, fear spreading its cold fingers across her features.

"Call Caroline, Elena," he says firmly, holding her gaze for a precious moment. On impulse, he presses a kiss to her forehead. It's not quite what he wants, but it's something. "Call her," he repeats.

Elena nods, biting her lip, sensing his urgency. He can't look at the tears already brimming in her eyes.

He allows himself one last look at her standing there alone. "Call Caroline," he swallows, clenches his jaws, "tell her I'm coming."

Damon turns his back on Elena, opens the door, and _runs_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew! ;) I'd love to know what you're thinking!**


	12. What Made Us Think That We Were Wise

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for your continued support of this story – I know I threw some of you for a loop with that particular character death. I hope you won't hate me too much, and trust the road we're on…! **

**(And I know this was only a marginally faster update – but it's progress! ;) I'm working on it, believe me, but I'm also working on about a million other things, so please hang in there.)**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Twelve: What Made Us Think That We Were Wise<em>**

* * *

><p>Stefan slowly lifts Margo's small, frail body to the torn and mildewed chaise—another remnant of a bygone era. He stares at her lifeless body for a long moment, tries to ignore the disparate thoughts clawing at his brain.<p>

It isn't so easy.

But at least it's easier than looking at the body that still lies sprawled behind him…

He tucks the little girl's hand under her chin—she almost looks like she's sleeping that way. Balon will want to see her when she wakes… And when Klaus' favorite warlock presents her with her first kill, she'll become vampire and werewolf all at once—a true hybrid.

Stefan closes his eyes, feeling the surge of raw, untenable emotion beat against his heart. He speeds outside, hands on his knees as soon as the fresh air touches his face. He doesn't know how long he can keep this up.

One day soon, there won't be any fight left in him.

The fact that there's still some tiny piece that finds that worrisome—however mildly so—tells him that day hasn't come quite yet.

But it will. Hard and fast and unrelenting.

It always has before.

He wonders if salvation will come knocking again, too. How many lifetimes does it take to burn through your second chances?

Stefan smells the first hints of smoke and ash from the far side of the old plantation. Pete has started a fire in the shed where Stefan has spent so much of his time. The flames lick the night like orange spears, thrusting back at the darkness.

The bodies won't take long to burn…

Stefan turns away to see Balon's hulking form stalking toward him—to collect his master's prize, no doubt.

Stefan has the absurd idea to take the girl and run away, but it only lasts a nanosecond before cold-hearted reason secures its iron grip.

Or is it even reason anymore?

Balon is thirty yards away… fifteen… twelve… Stefan waits, unmoving. He can let the warlock come to him, at least. Then all of a sudden Balon is on the ground.

There's the unmistakable sound of snapping vertebrae, and the most sudden, dense fog Stefan has ever seen. It envelops him completely, like a cool blanket.

For a moment, it almost feels like the emptiness Stefan has been craving—the freedom from thought and feeling, from grief and pain, from passion and need. His addled mind revels in it, eyes drifting closed, palms out.

That's when he's slammed into the ground.

Stefan's eyes snap open as the fog dissipates, finds his brother's face hovering inches above his own.

"Having fun yet, _brother_?" Damon sneers down at him, slams Stefan's head so hard against the ground he thinks his skull might crack.

Of course, after everything he's done—everything he _failed_ to do—that might be Damon's intention.

Instinct kicks in as Stefan propels himself upward, pushes Damon away. They face off across the small clearing, stalking a counter-clockwise circle, waiting for an opening.

"What'd you do with the body?" Damon asks, voice hard.

Stefan doesn't answer. There are no bodies, only ashes.

Only ashes and hot, hot flame.

Save one, and another, that is...

"Still think your little agreement with Klaus is worth upholding?"

Stefan greets the question with more silence.

"Answer me, dammit!" Damon yells, growing impatient enough to rush him.

Stefan dips aside at the last second, catching his brother in the stomach and flipping them both into the side of the house. Wood splinters everywhere as they fall.

"You shouldn't have come," Stefan says through gritted teeth as he presses Damon into the mud.

"_The hell I shouldn't_," Damon grits back, "you let Lockwood _die_." Damon somehow gets his feet underneath him, gains enough momentum to push Stefan across the clearing and into a wide oak. "Are you even still in there, Stefan? _Are you_?"

Too many words… too many words that Stefan can't hear.

_Focus on the tangible, what's here and now. Bring the fog back, the emptiness. _

_Bring it back…_

Stefan struggles against Damon's arms, pinning him to the trunk. "How are you still _stronger_ than me?" he manages to ask. "The blood…"

Damon grins that snarl of a smirk he favors when he has the upper hand. "Life's a _bitch_, ain't it?"

Stefan lets out a rumble low in his throat, uses all of his energy to throw Damon off again. They stumble and crash together in the ruddy ground, the sound of the growing bonfire crackling ever stronger in the near-distance.

"Let me _go_," he cries out, low and guttural.

"Why?" Damon taunts. "Don't tell me you have a bargain to keep," he pauses to block Stefan's blow and return it with a knee to the ribs. Stefan stumbles backward.

He _does_ have a bargain to keep, doesn't he?

_Doesn't he?_

"You wanted to save me," Damon continues, "here I am!" He rushes behind him, whacks Stefan between the shoulder blades, sends him sprawling. "It's time to cut your losses," he leans over, whispers in Stefan's ear, "before you lose too much."

"I _can't_," Stefan breathes hard.

"Can't or won't?" Damon pushes, has him in an iron grip. "This isn't about a deal anymore, is it Stef? You're starting to remember what this life is like—you're starting to _like_ _it _again, aren't you? Well too bad—I'm taking you home whether you like it or not."

The sound that escapes from Stefan's lips is unintelligible—an affirmation or a denial, he doesn't know. It hardly matters—there is nothing clear in him anymore. Nothing absolute.

Stefan lunges backward, catches Damon in the chest, puts all his weight into the blow and wrestles his older brother to the ground.

"_Leave_," he growls.

"_No_," Damon throws back. "You don't get to throw away your life for the likes of me."

But he's right—this _isn't_ just about that, is it? There's a little clench in the pit of Stefan's stomach telling him so.

Damon looks at him with just the smallest hint of pity. "Forget about me then, what about Elena?"

"Don't say her name to me," Stefan presses down harder.

"Touched a nerve then?" Damon sneers up at him. "Is that what it's going to take to get through to you? Find something in that twisted head of yours that can see past the blood? She still cries over you, you know… _Elena_."

Something breaks in Stefan, then, something he had been trying to hold together. It breaks, and he doesn't know where the pieces go.

He wants the fog back.

His hand reaches out blindly, grabs hold of a shaft of broken siding, splinters digging into his palms.

"_I said_," he leans down, "don't say her _name_."

Damon isn't going to give up that easily. But he still thinks they're playing one game, when Stefan has already skipped ahead to the next level. "Elena," he smirks, "Elena, Elena, _Elena_."

"_Stop it_!" Stefan shouts, drives the makeshift stake into Damon's abdomen so hard it rips out the other side, sliding a hair's breadth under his heart. Damon chokes in surprise, blood bubbling up in his mouth, eyes wide.

Stefan loosens his grip slightly at the sight.

He hadn't meant to do that. He wanted to keep his brother alive. That was the whole point, wasn't it—to keep them alive?

_He hadn't meant to._

Had he?

"It doesn't have to be this way, Stefan," Damon sputters softly, blue eyes staring up at him with an intense sadness. "It's not too late."

But it _is_. It is too late.

Look at what he's _done_.

What he still _wants _to do.

What he has to do…

…doesn't he?

"I can't go back," Stefan whispers, pulling away. "I…"

_I'm lost, and I can't find my way_.

"You _can_," Damon tries to sit up, winces, falls back in pain. It may be the most earnest he's heard his elder brother's voice since they were alive, and _still_ he can't truly listen.

_I'm lost, but it's easier to stay in the labyrinth. _

"I can't," he says again, backing away faster now, running before Damon can come after him.

Because he's not going to be able to go back.

He runs inside, picks up Margo's still form, decides if he's going back to Klaus without Balon or Pete, he'll need an offering. He's still not looking at that other form—that one, just there. He can't look.

The fog is coming back, the cloudiness that brings clarity—no more doubts, no more wondering if he can still have forgiveness, no more fighting against the darkness tapping in the very root of his soul. He wants the blood, and he will have it.

It's just easier that way.

Still, he pauses just close enough to see Caroline emerge into the clearing, shaking and white. She's moving in fits and starts—Damon has to coax her to his side, bites through his lip as he gets her to pull the stake free.

Stefan moves away into the night as they stand, try to follow him. He's too fast though, with Damon hurt and exhausted, Caroline a mess. He doesn't let them find his trail, doesn't let them gain any ground. Damon finally gives up with a string of curses and half-made promises while Caroline begs him to go back—she has to go back to _him_…

But Stefan can't think about that. And they shouldn't think about him.

Forget him, that's for the best.

He runs just long enough to feel the distance, then walks for an hour, then two, four. Walks until dawn crests over the ridge and he can lay his burden down.

There's a pain in his throat where screams and tears want to be heard. But he swallows them down.

Has to.

There's blood on the horizon, and there's nothing and no one behind him but ashes. Here, the fire still burns. It laps at his heart, at his mind, consuming him. Plays with the fog like an old friend. And he lets it.

_It's just easier that way._

* * *

><p>This isn't the first time one of Alaric's students has died, nor is it likely to be the last.<p>

There's always a nagging, mostly irrational feeling of responsibility—even when there was nothing he could have done. That was the way of meaningless accidents, stupid teenaged decisions, freak aneurisms and the like.

But this time it's different. This time the regret cuts like a knife, the usual sadness of a life cut short accompanied by the certainty that it could have been avoided.

They should have _done_ something. _He_should have done something.

Alaric finds himself staring in the direction of Jenna's unmarked grave, visible from the crest of the hill marked for the Lockwood plot. He's been thinking about her a lot in the past two days—even more so than usual.

He has to keep Elena and Jeremy safe, keep them out of a dark hole like the one gaping before him. He has to. _For her_.

The minister's voice drones on and on, punctuated only by the snuffling gasps of Carol Lockwood. Eyes red and skin carrying a deathly pallor, she hardly looks like she's slept in days. There are people around her, but she seems to exist in a bubble that no one can breach—a wall of black enveloping her, a protective circle stopping shy of comfort.

He remembers that feeling—has been at the center of that bubble twice himself. Knows what it is to have people afraid to say anything to remind you that the person you loved is gone, but having nothing else to say.

Alaric has seen Caroline make several attempts to go to Carol, but she always seems to stop herself at the last moment. The usually bubbly, optimistic blond hasn't been herself either—not since Damon brought her home in the back of a stolen car, cradling Tyler's lifeless body in her lap. Nothing can erase the blank expression from her face or the sunken look to her cheeks. Damon told him yesterday he's had to force her to drink any blood. She just moves around, listless, uncertain—as if her body knows what it's supposed to do but her brain isn't so sure.

Liz Forbes tries to put an arm around her daughter's shoulders, but it's shrugged off unceremoniously. Too little, too late, Alaric fears.

Liz herself has positioned them as far from Carol as possible. As soon as Damon called her, the sheriff had gone to release Carol from house arrest—only she'd had to tell her that her son was gone as well. Victory and defeat in one fell swoop.

Random act of violence would be the official story—another unfortunate victim of senseless brutality on a high school roadtrip. It's a story most of the current thicket of mourners in attendance will believe. But there are a handful that know the truth, most of them gathered at the back of the press, grief written in stern relief on their faces.

Damon alone wears an inscrutable mask. He's itching to go after his brother, Ric knows. He was furious he'd lost him down in Florida, but Alaric thinks his friend's anger is spinning off in so many different directions he can hardly see up from down, rationale from impulse, self-hatred from bitter ire. It's probably for the best that Katherine convinced him to let her take the first crack at searching for Klaus and company in Kentucky, or Damon might have done something they all regretted.

Small matter that her way of 'convincing' him was copious amounts of vervain and sneaking off in the middle of the night.

The way Elena is clinging to him now, though, as the crowd of somber voices rises shakily over the bars of Amazing Grace, Alaric suspects Damon would have a hard time leaving—no matter how frustrated or impatient he becomes.

The service is starting to wind down to the inevitable conclusion. Alaric thinks Elena did a nice job organizing it, and makes a mental note to tell her so. Caroline had wanted to do it when it became obvious that Carol was in no fit state—any other time she probably _would_have done it, and done it with her usual aplomb. But Elena had taken one look at her friend and done it herself. Ric thinks she was grateful for the distraction.

He sees Bonnie pull a distracted Jeremy toward the ragged queue of people looking to make their futile offers of condolence. Ric recognizes the look on the young man's face—the look that says he's just taken a good long look at mortality. As much loss as the kid has already dealt with, as close to death as he's been himself on far too many occasions, seeing a friend—someone your own age—struck down in the prime of their life... it leaves a special mark.

Alaric remembers a time, not so long ago, when he was standing up to the late Mayor Lockwood, stopping Jeremy and Tyler from coming to blows in the school parking lot.

_When did that change? _Alaric wonders, eyes wandering back to Jenna's grave. _When did I become a man who can only watch, wait for a moment of usefulness to fall in his lap?_

_Tell me what to do, Jenna… tell me what to _do._  
><em>  
>He can see her smiling face swimming in front of him, though her features are growing hazier by the day. His heart aches for an answer, and a million other things besides.<p>

Over the uncovered grave, a rift in the earth of unfathomable depth, Alaric catches Damon's eye. They nod in turn, grim.

_They should have done something.  
><em>  
>Alaric won't be making that mistake again.<p>

* * *

><p>Elena sets the bouquet of lilies on the ground, stands back. Adjusts them a little to the left, to the right. Splits them into two. Back again.<p>

Flowers by a grave are lonely enough, flowers by an unmarked grave look like the most forlorn and forgotten token she's ever laid eyes on.

"Odd place to leave flowers," a voice sidles up behind her. "Isn't your parents' grave over _there_?"

Elena snaps her head around, narrows her eyes. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Jasper Fell has the gall to look affronted. "Paying my respects," he jerks his head to the dwindling crowd at the top of the cemetery's highest hill.

"I didn't see you at the service," Elena frowns.

Jasper shrugs—she swears she can almost see a smirk behind his carefully solemn mask. "After our last conversation, I wasn't sure I'd be welcome."

"You're not," Elena practically spits, crossing her arms. "You drove Tyler out of town—made it impossible for him to stay here," she seethes, trying to keep her voice low and even. "You turned his own mother's doubts into reasons for him to leave. His death is on your head as much as it's on Kl—" she stops herself just in time, taking a steadying breath.

Jasper's forehead crinkles as she raises his brows. "As much as _whose_ now?"

Elena feels her neck redden, but raises her chin defiantly. "It doesn't matter. But you won't get away with the part you played."

Jasper's smirk emerges again, turns dark and twisted. "Won't I?" he whispers, leaning close for a moment before turning on his heel.

Elena watches him go, feels the adrenaline burning off in the pit of her stomach, the flutter in her heart born of too much grief, too many sleepless nights, too few constants to lean on.

"Well that was _enlightening_…"

Elena spins around again, heartbeat suddenly hammering, breath caught in her throat. The rest of the world may as well not exist for all the attention she gives it, vision tunneled in on the sudden appearance of none other than Klaus himself.

"Close your mouth, sweetheart," he smiles enigmatically, "or the flies'll get in."

"What—" she sputters, searching, "why're you—" she tries to breathe, "you _killed_ Tyler."

"Guilty," he holds his hands up in mock appeal. He advances a step toward her, she skitters three steps back. "Don't look so frightened," he chides, "I'm not here to kill _you_, too—not today, anyhow."

Elena can't breathe. She _cannot_ breathe.

Her nerves have deserted her, left her hollow, a quaking shell of lost confidence and lost hope.

Can you die from shock and loss?

"What are you doing here?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

"Had to check on a few things outside of town," he smirks, "thought I'd pop over to the festivities—wouldn't want to miss all the _fun_."

"You're a _monster_," it slips out of her mouth, past all of the fear and filters of self-preservation.

"Why, thank you," Klaus only smiles all the wider. "These are charming, by the way," he stoops to pick up the carefully placed lilies, brushes them under his nose, inhaling deeply. "You really do have exquisite taste…" he speeds forward, stopping long enough to whisper in her ear, "…but I knew that as soon as I realized what a _gem_ you'd picked for a boyfriend. Oh," he adds, from her other side, "which reminds me… Stefan sends his love."

He's gone as soon as he came, leaving Elena alone and shaking.

She looks around, searching for some sign that Klaus remains lingering in the shadows, watching, listening. The hairs are still standing up on the back of her neck, but she sees no sign of him.

"Damon..." she calls out softly, not wanting to disturb the remaining mourners, digging her phone out of her bag.

She needn't have bothered, as Damon appears in front of her, a quizzical look on his face. "You rang?" his features twist into worry as he looks her over—she's still shaking like a leaf. "What happened?"

Elena swallows hard, "Klaus was here."

"Klaus?" Damon is instantly on high alert, looks around the shaded cemetery from every angle, trying in vain to keep her protected simultaneously. "Where? Where did he go?" he turns back to her, hands skimming over her shoulders, down her arms. "Did he hurt you? What did he say?"

Elena's head is spinning with the questions—it's too much, this is all _too much_. "He ran off," she manages, "I—he, I don't—"

"Stay here," Damon instructs, turning away. Elena reaches out to him at the last moment.

He stares at her hand on his arm, back at her. She's been holding onto him too much lately, she knows, but if she doesn't hold onto something—_someone_—she'll fall.

_Please don't let me fall._

"I'll keep you in sight, I promise," he says, soft but strangely detached.

He's back within a few minutes, jaw set in renewed anger. "Not a trace," he says bitterly, "ancient bugger is _damn_ good." He's whipping out his phone now, taking charge. "Ric—yea... No, Klaus was here... I know... No, nothing—but you and Bewitched should start searching the town, just in case. Call Liz, get her deputies to help. Samuel, too—the old man must be good for something... Yea... Okay, keep me posted," he hangs up.

This call to action should be comforting—she should be insisting on searching, helping, but Elena can still hear Klaus' voice in her ear...

_Stefan sends his love..._

"He's gone, isn't he?" she asks, voice small.

"Probably," Damon grimaces, "but it can't hurt to look."

"Not Klaus," she clarifies, looking up into Damon's clear blue eyes, "Stefan."

Damon tenses, doesn't say anything. Elena makes to reach for his hand, but he shoves them in his pockets.

"He's really gone," she repeats. She will not cry, not this time. "Isn't he?"

"I..." Damon hesitates. "I don't know."

Elena's heart sinks. If he gives up...

_Please don't let me fall._

"How could he do those things? Everything Caroline saw, what _you_ saw," her voice is cracking now, but she _will not cry_. Who has that many tears, anyway? "How could he—how could he let Tyler—?"

Damon just shakes his head again, "I don't know."

"Damon..."

"_Elena_," he cuts her off firmly, his hands finally reconnecting with her skin. He gently squeezes her shoulders, making her look him in the eye. "Don't try to make sense of this. You can't."

No, she can't. Because _none_ of this makes sense, none of it.

And still, she's starting to fall.

Damon sighs when she doesn't say anything, doesn't argue. "Jeremy is waiting for you at the car—let him take you home."

Elena nods, can't even muster the strength to protest. She looks around at the too-familiar graves under her feet, back up to the fresh one at the top of the hill. The small crowd has dispersed by now, but for one lone figure. Elena would recognize those sunshine curls anywhere.

Damon follows her gaze. "Go home, stay inside," he directs. "I can handle Caroline..."

* * *

><p>Damon closes the car door on Elena's ashen face, watches brother and sister drive off for a moment before turning away.<p>

It's a long walk back to the Lockwood plot. He could get there faster, of course, but suddenly he doesn't feel like running.

When was the last time moving any faster made a damn bit of difference in the end result, anyway?

He knows in his bones that they won't be finding any sign of Klaus. The Original is too clever to make it that easy... He may not think they're a threat, but he's not that careless either.

What he said to Elena isn't exactly brimming with answers.

And Elena...

Damon can't give up on his brother, so help him, but he's starting to wonder if maybe Elena should. She deserves better than what hope and trust in Stefan has earned her so far. She should have _life_ in her eyes again.

And yet...

Damon thinks if he ever does get Stefan home, his little brother will need her more than he needs Damon. But who's to say they'll be crossing that bridge anytime soon? He might have forever to wait and search and struggle, but she doesn't.

She could forget about Stefan, forget about _him_—move on. But making her do that would require two things Damon doesn't know if he's strong enough—_selfless_ enough—to do.

He'd have to push her away, for one thing—_really_ push her. Leave, even. He's not going to fool himself into thinking he matters that much to her, but every stray touch, every pleading glance—it's enough to prove to Damon, at least, that he's hopelessly tied to this girl. He can't even hold onto his anger long enough to resent her on principle.

When did he become so _pathetic_?

He _could_ just push her away from Stefan. She's on the brink now—it's only a little farther to the abyss. She'd probably be better off... But therein lies his second problem—he doesn't want her that way. If there was ever even the tiniest glimmer of hope that she would turn away from Stefan and towards him, he won't let himself be the one to set the chain in motion. He can't make himself be the one to poison whatever they have left. She'd always hate him for it, and his brother, no matter how far gone he seems…

Not that she hasn't hated him before, probably still should on some level. Not that any of this even matters. Not that _he_ deserves her either...

Damon shakes his head—this is why he doesn't overanalyze things.

He's reaching the top of the rolling crest now, relishes the burn in his muscles, however fleeting. He'd lost sight of Caroline in the last moments of the climb, and when he rounds the bend to the Lockwood plot, he thinks for a second that she already left.

But there she is, sitting in the grass at the edge of the open grave, absently throwing fistfuls of dirt into the little chasm.

Damon had fully intended on dragging her home before they lost any more valuable time-throwing her over his shoulders like Barbie rag doll if he had to.

He really _had_ been planning to do that. _Really_.

But when she looks over at the sound of his footsteps, something stops his progress. If possible, she looks even worse than when he found her in Florida. He hadn't even had to keep her quiet then—she could barely say a word, barely _do_ anything. The horror of what she'd witnessed was written plain enough in her eyes, though.

It's still there—haunted, crushed. He's never seen that look on _her_ face before, not when the werewolves captured her and kept her as a pet, not even amongst any of their more depraved 'date nights.' To see it there now is... disconcerting...

_And you've gone soft._

But the little voice in his head that usually keeps him from acting too much like a woman—or like Saint Stefan—has been through the ringer the past few days.

So he stands, and waits. He leans up against a tree, crosses his arms. He should be impatient, on edge, but he's finding it oddly calming, standing here. There's something timeless about a cemetery—something that hasn't changed so much since he was human. This could be any other day, any other time... Just another young man off to visit his mother's grave...

Caroline seems to have forgotten that he's there. Damon is startled out of his reverie when she suddenly moves forward, lowers herself down into the grave with a soft thud on the top of the coffin.

He inches his way forward, feeling he's intruding on a very private moment.

_What, did all of your human hesitancies come back with that little trip down memory lane, too?_

But he's supposed to be taking her home... Isn't he?

What is he still doing here?

She's kneeling on that big mahogany box, well scattered with dirt and flowers. Her shoulders are already shaking.

_I'm sorry_, he almost says.

Is he? Would he have done it any differently?

_Would it have mattered?_

_I shouldn't have let you go down there alone,_ he thinks anyway. _Shouldn't have left you so unprepared. Shouldn't have allowed teen wolf to do something I should've done myself_.

Damon forces himself to look away, stares into the heart of the sun as it sets, feels the burn in his eyes like some sort of masochistic relief.

He's going to need to kill something if he keeps going on like this.

It must be an hour or two before Caroline's soft, muffled cries have quieted, her breathing evened out into some sort of fitful sleep. When Damon looks again, she's curled herself across the length of dark, polished wood. She looks for all the world like they could bury her, too, and she wouldn't care.

Who knows, maybe she wouldn't.

But they've lingered here long enough, and there's work to do.

Damon drops himself down next to her, silent as a shadow, lifts her gently into his arms. She hardly stirs at all. For just a second, he imagines it's Elena, resting her head against his chest. But every time he's held _her_ in his arms has been no less painful.

Would a moment—just a single _moment_ to hold her without the specter of doom and death hanging over them really be too much to ask?

"Damon..?" it's Caroline staring up at him blearily. _Caroline_.

He doesn't answer at first, just vaults them onto level ground with ease. "I'm taking you home," he says at last, but she's already fallen back to sleep.

He starts back down the hill, gathering speed as he goes until he's running, running, _running_.

* * *

><p>Jeremy wakes with a start. He looks around the room for a moment, wondering what disturbed his slumber.<p>

"_Jeremy_..."

He nearly falls out of bed at the sound of Vicki's voice right next to his ear. He'd finally almost gotten used to their ghostly presence when they stopped talking and started staring.

Somehow, the silence was worse.

But that doesn't mean he was prepared for a visitation at… _five twenty-freaking-three in the morning_.

"Go away," he mutters into the darkness, flopping back to his pillow.

"Nuh uh uh…" he can almost imagine Vicki wagging her finger naughtily. "It's time for all good boys to get up."

"It's early," he complains—as if anything about this begs a rational conversation.

"If you don't go now, you'll miss it."

Jeremy huffs, reaches an arm over to turn on the light. Vicki is smiling alluringly down at him, Anna sits at the foot of the bed.

It's the latter that speaks next. "You have to go, Jeremy."

"Go where?"

"You know," Anna smiles. He does _miss_ that smile…

"No," he grumbles anyway, "I _don't_ know."

"Yes you do," she looks at him, that smile holding the pity of a few hundred years.

"No I—" he starts to argue, but something flickers in the back of his mind.

"He's got it now," Vicki turns back to Anna. "You _were_ always too smart for your own good," she teases back to him.

He can't explain it—hasn't even _thought_ about it since Damon dismissed the idea—but suddenly he _has_ to go back to those warehouses. The old factory on the map, the one he was so _sure_ about—he knew there was something there, why did he give up on it?

Was he this _certain_ before?

Jeremy dresses without any further prodding, pulling on his sneakers as he hops and hurries down the stairs.

"Samuel," he starts when he sees the old shaman sitting by the library window. "What're you doing up?"

The old man doesn't look surprised to see him. "I like to watch the sun begin its journey, feel its first warm rays lighting our way to another day," he explains in that tranquil, unbothered way of his.

"Oh," is all Jeremy can think to say, "that's… cool?"

Samuel smiles a little. "You would do well to follow the sun, too, I think. Let it guide your way…"

Jeremy stares for a minute, chuckles softly. It's only been a couple days, but he's already stopped asking the shaman to explain himself—it only leads to more enigmatic riddles.

There's a flash of Anna by the door.

Jeremy can't hold in the snort of laughter this time. He's _surrounded_ by sphinxes…

He borrows some keys and heads out into the pre-dawn day alone, growing more certain with every mile he drives closer to the factory.

Still, when he pulls up on the overlook looming above the complex, he's not sure what he's looking for.

"Damon and Caroline already searched high and low," he mutters, hands on his hips, suddenly exasperated. "What am I supposed to find?"

"When you see it, you'll know," Anna appears. "Look closely."

The sun is starting to peek into the valley, the first warm shafts coloring the rusted buildings with a ruddy glow.

_Follow the sun…_

Jeremy tries to see where the first rays lead as the shaman's words come back to him, but the sun is quickly filling up the whole world with light. "Am I missing it?" he asks, almost to himself.

Not that that stops Vicki from answering. "You're right where you need to be, Jer—you just need to _see_."

Jeremy stares out over the buildings, looking for something out of place, something amiss. It's getting brighter fast—almost hazy. At first, Jeremy thinks there's too much metal down there to reflect all of that sun, but when he looks away it doesn't get any better.

He blinks rapidly, tries to rub the sunspots from his eyes, but they just get worse. "I can't _see_ anything," he complains, exasperated.

It's so _bright_.

Too bright…

"Anna…" he blinks again, but the world is all hot, molten white. He sees her face for a moment, as if through a fog, and then they're gone.

"You just have to look, Jeremy," her whisper is in his ear, "look _out_."

But Jeremy isn't interested in looking out anywhere—_can't_ look out anywhere. His heart is beating faster and faster, he spins around before he thinks better of it and stands stock still. Tries to rub his eyes clear again, blinks slower, faster—nothing.

_I can't see…_

"Oh God, I can't _see_," he says aloud, feels the reality settle in a panic on his chest. "What did you do to me?" he breathes, disbelieving. "What did you _do_?"

"You've been given a gift, Jeremy," Anna's voice again, behind him.

"A _gift_," he splutters, "are you crazy? I can't _see_ anything."

"Death will show you the way," Vicki speaks, a soft flutter at his earlobe. "You'll see—you'll see so much _more_."

"Look outward, Jeremy," Anna whispers, "_look out._"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, we've got new TVD tomorrow (hurray!) – but I hope you'll keep coming back to this story as well. Don't forget to leave a review, and I'll get you all an update ASAP!**


	13. Drink a Drink of Me

**Author's Note: See – at least not any slower of an update..! ;) We'll get back there again, really. In the meantime, a new chapter to (hopefully) enjoy. I'm not really sure it's any good, but I didn't want keep you guys waiting. Lots of confrontation in this one, so prepare yourselves. Sometimes these characters need a little spark though, no? It'll be good for them in the long run, I promise.**

**Okay, enough of my cagey statements – onward!**

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thirteen: Drink a Drink of Me<em>**

* * *

><p>"You really can't see <em>anything<em>?" Elena's voice carries a thousand years of worry.

"How many times are you going to ask me that before you take my word for it?" Jeremy snaps impatiently. He thinks he's earned a little impatience—he can't _see_ for chrissakes.

He's sitting on the crest of the hill just as he was when he called them, sitting just as they'd found him twenty minutes later—sitting seemed like the safer option, all things considered. He might not be able to see his sister, but he can feel her crouched down and hovering over him.

"And what is it you _do _see?" Damon asks from somewhere above them.

Jeremy breathes out of his nose. "I dunno… white mostly—yellows and reds around the edges, like I stared into the sun too long. And these darker shadows sometimes…"

"Are you sure you _didn't_ stare into the sun too long?" Damon snarks, moving off to the left.

_Wait a second—Damon moved to the _left.

Jeremy knows a person's other senses are supposed to compensate when one is compromised, but he doesn't think he just picked up on the crunch of gravel or the sound of the vampire's voice. He saw _something_, some visual cue.

Elena is starting to say something smothering about getting him back home, but he interrupts her. "Damon, are you standing right—" he starts to point, then realizes he can't see his own hand in front of his face. He bites back his frustration. "Can you stand right in front of me?" he amends.

A few footfalls and—_yes_—a dark form. "Well?" Jeremy can just picture Damon's arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn't have to imagine where he is.

"I can see you," Jeremy sits up straighter—this is something, at least. "Well—not you exactly," he tries to explain, "but your shadow or something."

"My shadow?" Damon scoffs. "What am I, Peter Pan?"

"No, really," Jeremy clings onto the idea that his eyes aren't completely useless. "It's getting clearer now that I know what to look at… it's definitely you—or your shadow, or whatever."

"That doesn't make any sense…" Elena speaks slowly.

"What else is new?" Damon asks tiredly. "Okay—get up then, let's get you home and see if Samuel or Bonnie have any bright ideas. Maybe the ex-girlfriends from hell with deign to grace us with their presence by then."

Jeremy frowns—he doesn't want them to write this off—but clambers to his feet anyhow. It's instinct to look around, even if there's nothing to see.

_Except… _"There's another dark spot down there," he declares. "One of the warehouses, maybe?" he tries uncertainly—he's not even sure what direction he's looking in anymore.

"Maybe your vision is just coming back slowly," Damon suggests, already walking back to the cars.

"_No_," Jeremy plants his feet, insisting. "This is different… I _knew_ there was something here."

"A dark spot?" Damon repeats skeptically. "A big black hole of nothing—that's what's here."

"We're already here," Jeremy points out, "it can't hurt to check it out, can it?"

Damon grumbles noncommittally as though it might actually hurt a good bit, but they start down the hill anyway. Jeremy tries to keep the dark area in sight, though it sometimes grows harder to see. It's not a clear form like Damon—who he can still make out ahead of him—but it has a presence nonetheless.

"Keep up, would you? I don't really want to haul around your beefed up butt on my shoulders," Damon mutters.

Elena squeezes Jeremy's hand reassuringly as she leads him over the uneven ground. He bites his tongue when he stubs his toe on a loose rock, but doesn't complain.

"There," Jeremy says with certainty when the building comes into focus, so to speak.

"I remember searching this building, there was nothing there," Damon says tiredly, though Jeremy can hear him shoving the heavy metal door aside anyway.

Once inside, the shadows grow sharper and Jeremy has no trouble leading them toward the middle of the one of the side walls.

"It's just a bunch of old crates," Damon says. "What is there to see?"

"They don't look so old to me," Elena speaks up. "Not compared to the rest of the building…"

Damon seems to contemplate this, taking a few steps forward. "Well, no one ever said curiosity killed the vampire," he says almost to himself, "though I'd hate to be the exception that proves the rule…"

There's a sound of nails popping out of place, the faint grind of wood against wood. Jeremy hears Elena's sharp intake of breath.

"What is it?" Jeremy asks, adrenaline rising. "What's in there?"

"_Elijah_…" Elena breathes.

"Well, well, well," there's a bitter laugh in Damon's throat, "I think my birthday's come early…"

* * *

><p>"Caroline..?" Elena calls hesitantly, pushing the Forbes' door open a crack when no one answers.<p>

"Visiting hours are over," Caroline calls back, voice flat—a tone that's more heartbreaking on the normally spirited blond than it might be on anyone else.

Elena steels herself, pushing the door wider. She thinks if she can just focus on doing, helping, _moving_, it won't be so hard to hold herself afloat. As it is, she thinks she's barely keeping herself from falling into that numb daze she just barely pulled herself out of. She thinks whatever she thought was rock bottom, was just a narrow ledge on the way down.

But then, would anyone blame her—besides herself? On top of all of the death and heartache she was already battling, her brother is now apparently _blind_, Tyler is _dead_, Stefan is slipping further and further away, and she seems to hurt Damon just by virtue of being her.

_Yea, a little numbness would be nice right about now. An extra dose of anesthesia, doctor, if you please._

"Caroline you can't hind forever," Elena calls back as she walks quietly through the house. She ought to practice what she preaches... Really should, anyway.

"Actually I can," Caroline retorts humorlessly, "_forever_ is exactly how long I have to hide."

Elena has made her way into Caroline's bedroom by now, places herself on the edge of the bed.

The blond looks at her for a long moment before rolling away, her back to Elena. "Just you? No cavalry?" she asks.

"Bonnie's with Jeremy," Elena explains.

Caroline nods slightly. "How is he?"

"So you _did_ listen to my messages?" Elena can't keep the trace of hurt out of her voice—between Jeremy's situation and finding the Originals, Elena knows she sounded on edge at best on a few of those calls, not to mention her rising panic when Caroline wasn't answering. "Why didn't you call back?"

Caroline sighs, sitting up. "Forgive me if I didn't feel like tackling another crisis," she mutters bitterly.

"I was worried about you," Elena says softly, "and we could use your help."

Caroline laughs short and sharp. "You don't need my help—I'm not any help to anyone... All I can do is _sit_ and _watch_ while the most _horrible_ things happen—or get in the way when other people try to save the day. My _'help'_ is the last thing you need."

Elena looks at her friend, stricken. "That's not true, Caroline, you—"

"Save it, Elena," Caroline holds up her hands. "I'm not in the mood for a pep talk. I'm a cheerleader, remember? I know all the routines."

Caroline flops back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For perhaps the first time in their long if sometimes complicated friendship, Elena is at a complete loss.

"What about stopping Klaus?" Elena tries. "Bringing Stefan home?"

"Stefan can stay gone for all I care," Caroline scoffs, a coldness marring her features.

"You don't mean that," Elena breathes. They have to be able to save him—they _have_ to. And she doesn't think she's strong enough to carry her faith alone. She used to be, but...

She can't have spent all this time loving someone that could be so far gone.

Elena can feel Caroline's eyes on her as she looks away, senses the other girl deflate just slightly. "Maybe I won't mean it tomorrow," she sighs, "but today... You didn't see him Elena—what he's done..."

Elena can feel the tears welling in spite of herself. "That wasn't Stefan," _she has to keep telling herself that_, "that was Klaus and... and..."

Just as quickly, Caroline's edge is back. "Wake up, Elena," she snaps like a taut rubber band, "that _was_ Stefan in that clearing with me, refusing to help—that _was_ Stefan turning that little girl, standing by while Klaus killed Tyler—that _was_ Stefan in those sheds, torturing people like Hannibal Lecter."

"No..." Elena says, standing. _No... she can't have lost him, too._ There has to be hope. Somewhere, there has to be a _shred_ of hope.

But Caroline is on a roll. "Haven't you heard anything I've told you? Anything Katherine has told you? _Damon_? I care about Stefan, too, but the Stefan you know is gone, Elena, and I don't know if he'll ever be back."

"_No_," Elena repeats, voice barely a whisper, no longer able to hold back the tears. "You don't know that."

Caroline is standing now, too. Her friend has never been one to shy away from laying out harsh truths, but Elena has never seen her this adamant—her blue eyes are cool as ice, her features hard as stone.

"He let Tyler _die_," Caroline's voice is rising, "I can't just up and forgive him for that, no questions asked—and you shouldn't either. Just because you want it to be a certain way, doesn't make it so—you're not _God_, Elena."

It feels like a slap in the face, and Elena retorts before she can think about it. "And just because _you_ lost your boyfriend, doesn't mean I have to lose mine. I know you've always been jealous of me, but we don't have to do everything the same."

Elena's eyes widen as soon as the words leave her lips, hand flying to her mouth.

If Caroline was hurting before, she looks positively crushed now. "_Oh God_," Elena breathes, "Caroline, I'm so—I didn't—"

But Caroline just stares at her. Elena flees from the room just as Caroline seems to shake herself out of the initial shock and half-past the wounded anger. "Wait… Elena, what I said, I—"

But whatever Caroline is going to say now is drowned out by the blood pounding in Elena's ears. She runs out of the house without a second look back, sickened by her own words and by the reality Caroline was shoving under her nose that Elena isn't ready to see.

_What is wrong with you?_ she asks herself, hands shaking as she tries to turn the keys in the ignition. _What were you thinking?_

She was wrong before—she doesn't need numbness, she needs to _not care_. She needs to not care about whatever horrible monster the man she's supposed to love with all her heart has become. She needs to not care about the pain swirling all around her, through her friends and what's left of her family, seeping into every atom of her being. She needs to escape _this_—this feeling of helplessness, of shame.

There was, once upon a time, a carefree Elena Gilbert—she had fun when she wanted to and wasn't always so serious—was even a little _reckless_.

_That_ Elena didn't care about the future, about consequences or responsibility.

She puts the car in drive, peeling across the asphalt with a squeal of tires. She doesn't need numbness, she needs _abandon_. She needs a drink.

* * *

><p>"And you just left them there?" Alaric asks, still surprised.<p>

Damon shrugs, pouring himself a generous drink with a ghost of a smirk. "They weren't exactly easy to find—if Klaus is okay with just leaving them there unguarded, then who am I to question the tactics of a diabolical mastermind?"

"I suppose..." Ric replies, unconvinced. This is the first real, tangible lead they've had—even if it does come in a dangerous package. "You know we're going to have to wake them up eventually, right?"

Damon grimaces. "Why, so Elijah can betray us again? I don't trust that guy any farther than I can throw him—which isn't terribly far."

"He knows things, Damon—things that could actually help us. And if that's his family in there, if Klaus put him in that box, he might be inclined to lend a hand," Alaric reasons.

"And what happens when it comes down to us or Klaus again, hmm?" Damon stares into the crackling fire. "I've wanted to kill Stefan plenty of times—and it's starting to look plenty appealing again, let me assure you—but when it comes down to it, I've always taken any excuse not to..."

Alaric considers his friend for a moment, reminded just how long the Salvatores have been roaming the earth—and at what cost. "Stefan isn't Klaus," he reasons.

"_Not yet, anyway_..." Damon mutters darkly, taking a long pull from his glass.

Alaric doesn't have anything to say to that. "This was always going to be a two part process," he changes tacks, "save Stefan, stop Klaus. If we can't do the former without doing the latter, then so be it."

Damon turns back to him, but Alaric holds his sharp gaze. Damon looks away at last. "_When did this become my problem_?" he asks under his breath, walking back to the drink cart. "Fine," he sighs, louder, "we'll get the witch and go back in the morning with some backup, at least."

Alaric nods, satisfied. "I'm surprised Elena hasn't yanked the dagger out already," he snorts, thinking of the last time they had Elijah incapacitated.

"Oh, she wanted to," Damon makes a moue of distaste. "But one look at Jeremy was enough to convince her to wait, at least."

It's enough to settle another knot in Alaric's stomach, too—what is he supposed to do with spontaneous blindness?

_The knocks—they just keep on a'comin_...

Damon looks up from his favorite brown bottle, brow furrowed. "Where is Elena, anyhow?"

"She went to check on Caroline," Ric looks at his watch, "but that was a few hours ago..."

Damon's forehead creases deeper. Alaric knows that look.

"They're probably just having a heart to heart or whatever teenaged girls do these days—it's been a long week for everyone," Alaric says, albeit somewhat lamely.

"Still..." Damon says, already whipping out his phone and walking away.

Ric sighs heavily, reaching for a tumbler. He can't help but laugh at himself as he changes his mind at the last minute, and just takes the whole bottle instead.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Jeremy doesn't need to see Bonnie's face to hear the wince in her voice, imagine her worrying hands.<p>

"No, I just..." _I don't want the attention, I don't want to feel weak and incapable, I don't want your pity. _"I just need some time alone, okay?"

"Okay..." Bonnie slips out of the room, the sound of his bedroom door closing softly behind her.

Jeremy knows she'll be just downstairs—the only way Elena was ever going to agree to leave him here was if someone was along to protect him. As if he's some baby that needs looking after. Still, he feels better here at home than in the Boarding House—at least he doesn't seem to spend as much time bumping into things.

And the feel of his old bed, the familiar smells—it's... comforting.

"Hey there, tiger, how ya holdin' up?"

Jeremy starts as Vicki's face appears suddenly in front of him. "I can see you!" he exclaims. She's the first thing beyond shadows that he's seen all day—full detail, if a bit fuzzy, but definitely visible.

"I know this must be hard, Jeremy, but it's all for the best," Anna appears on the other side—both appear to be sitting on either edge of his bed.

"For the best?" Jeremy just barely remembers to keep his voice down, lest Bonnie come investigating—and he's not in the mood to translate. He wants answers. _Now_. "How is this for the _best_? Why did you do this to me?"

"I'm offended," Vicki pouts.

"We didn't do anything, Jeremy," Anna clarifies sadly. "Death has marked you—this is just part of that process."

"Marked me..?" Jeremy doesn't like the sound of that.

"When you died," Anna explains, "and Bonnie brought you back, she could not wholly erase your connection to death. It has only grown stronger the longer you've been back, building on itself and your energies—it's why you've felt strange, why you've been able to see us..."

"Because you're… dead?" this is all a lot to take in...

Vicki and Anna exchange a look. "Not exactly..." Vicki grins.

Jeremy feels a cold dread wrap around his chest, as a thought rises unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Truth be told, it's something he's suspected for some time, but been unable or unwilling to acknowledge. "You're not really Anna and Vicki, are you?"

"No..." Anna admits quietly.

"We're part of death," Vicki elaborates, "as are they—so we know how they were in life, and we know how much they meant to you."

"But we're just part of the balance—an eternal pair," Anna picks up the thread, "malevolence and benevolence."

"Mal and Ben, if you like," Vicki smiles, gesturing between them.

Anna glares, "you got to be Mal last time."

"But it suits me, don't you think?" Vicki—or Mal—or whatever, smirks wickedly.

"I think I'll stick with Anna and Vicki," Jeremy interrupts them. "But I don't understand why you're here. Just to manipulate me? Play some cruel joke?"

"No," Anna reaches out a soothing hand—it feels almost like a cool breeze on his arm. "We're here to guide you."

"Toward what?" Jeremy frowns.

"The end," Vicki answers.

"That's not an answer," Jeremy huffs.

"It's the only answer we have," Anna smiles apologetically. "We don't control your path."

"Then who does?"

"You," Vicki answers, "and death."

"I don't understand..." Jeremy isn't sure he _wants_ to understand.

Anna sighs, looks as though she is searching for the right words. "Death is the ultimate equalizer, the scale against which witches like your friend Bonnie try to maintain the balance of nature... It's the last stop, and the first stop. But you have tipped the balance."

"So, what?" Jeremy sits up straighter. "Now I'm being _punished_? I didn't ask Bonnie to save me."

"Would you rather have been left to death forever?" Vicki asks knowingly.

Jeremy can't exactly argue.

"It's not a punishment, Jeremy," Anna goes on. "It's a gift."

"Yea," Jeremy mutters sarcastically. "You said that before. I'm definitely crossing this off my Christmas list..."

"You have been able to help your friends, have you not?" Anna points out. "There are other imbalances in nature—evasions of death more egregious than your own."

Realization begins to dawn in Jeremy's mind. "Klaus..."

Vicki smiles wider. "See, you're getting it."

She has a way of making him feel satisfied for a moment before he shakes his head, remembering. "No I _don't_ get it—what does my sight have anything to do with _anything_?"

Anna sighs again, heavy. "It's all part of the process... As you saw _more_ through death, now it is all you see, in a way."

"That's why you could still see Damon—and the Originals in the warehouse," Vicki adds, as though he has the best luck, "death is always with them, being what they are."

Jeremy mulls over this angrily. "Well I don't _want_ to see death," he spits, "I was perfectly happy seeing living things."

"I'm sorry," Anna offers, but she doesn't really seem all that apologetic.

"Make it stop then," Jeremy argues.

"We can't do that, Jer," Vicki says.

"_Then what good are you_?"

"A lot of good, maybe," Vicki leans forward seductively. Damned if he doesn't find it a little stirring, in spite of himself.

"We'll be here for what's to come," Anna smiles slightly, standing.

"There's going to be _more_?" a slow dread washes through his veins. He can't take much more of this.

"There's always more, Jeremy," Anna replies, sad again, "always..."

In a blink, they're gone from view, and Jeremy's world returns to a blank, bright field of nothingness.

* * *

><p>It's well past dark when Damon finds her, sitting with a morose happiness at a bar on the outskirts of town.<p>

He really ought to put a GPS chip in this girl.

Judging by the number of glasses in front of her, she's well into her eleventh round—which, if memory serves, is good and drunk for Elena.

_Memory though_... somehow he doesn't think this will end up much like Atlanta. Which is probably both good and bad.

The bar isn't exactly crowded, but she still doesn't seem to notice his entrance until he sidles up next to her and signals the bartender for a glass of whiskey.

It seems like a whiskey kind of night.

"You're not even eighteen for another week," he says without preamble, gesturing at the discarded array of shot glasses, tumblers, and pilsners, "how'd you manage all of this?"

She turns to give him her best sultry smile—though it only makes her look younger, more lost. "I have my ways..."

"I don't doubt it," he offers her the slightest of smirks, a glance of the eye.

"I used to be fun, Damon," she slurs ever so slightly, but he's heard all this before. "I mean really _fun_. Carefree," she adds emphatically, turning to face him fully. "Do y'miss that? Do you miss being carefree?"

Damon takes a beat. "Sometimes," he admits.

_And God, does he._ He misses not caring so very much sometimes—but then, she'll smile at him, and all the pain that comes with caring seems worth it, even if it's just for a second.

"Well I do," she frowns now, raising a finger for another glass.

Damon forestalls the bartender. "I think you've had enough," he says, low and firm.

"Oooh," Elena flashes her eyes at him with a taunting grin, slipping forward on her barstool. "Is Damon Salvatore preaching responsibility? I never thought I'd see the day..."

Damon's jaw twitches. "I just don't want you to do something you'll regret."

"And what would I regret..?" she asks softly, eyes hooded as her hand travels up his thigh. He's momentarily transfixed by the shape of her body in her tight black camisole, the little peek of a red lace bra, the electricity coursing through his veins at her touch.

_And she knows it._

He growls low in his throat, forcing himself to stand, throw a few bills on the counter. "Come on," he says roughly, grabbing her by the arm. She only laughs as she stumbles after him, but she digs in her heels when they reach the parking lot, awash with a dim neon glow.

"Wait," she say stubbornly.

He's going to regret this. "What for?"

She looks around, here, there—anywhere but at him. "I can't go back," she wraps her arms around her middle.

He crosses his arms, affecting disinterested impatience. "Why?"

She finally looks him in the eye. He can't handle it when she looks at him like that. "Because everything in my life is a mess, Damon," her eyes are glassy—with tears or liquor or maybe both. "Everything is _wrong_."

He's not sure what he's supposed to say to that. "So you're getting hammered in a shady biker bar?"

"Yea…" she says slowly, seeming to remember why she's here in the first place, taking a few unsteady steps in his direction. "Yea, I am," the smile is back in place, determined. "This is what I need."

"_This_ isn't you, Elena."

"Maybe it is," she sticks her lip out, insistent. "Maybe this is exactly what_ I _need," her hands are on his chest now, her gaze pinning him in place.

"How is this what you need?" he swallows.

"This way _I'm_ wrong too," she whispers, "I'll be _wrong_… like everything else… I can be wrong, and it won't matter that nothing is right…"

Before he can say anything else, she's on her tiptoes and slamming her lips onto his. He expects wet, sloppy, and drunk—and maybe it should be those things, but in the hair's breadth of time that his brain is still processing rational thought, he realizes _this_ is not that at all.

As soon as they connect it's like fire—dangerous and electric and unadulterated high. Shocked as he is in that first moment, they move in perfect harmony together—it's pure instinct, like they were born knowing how to do this.

_But he never knew, never could have understood…_

He can taste the hint of bourbon on her tongue, feel the heat of her under his fingertips, hear her heartbeat pulsing into him, _through him_ like it's his own. For a second he can imagine himself pushing her up against the rough brick wall, taking her then and there for everyone to see, for no one to see.

But he can't do that.

_Can't. Do. That._

Damon pushes her away and it takes every last bit of strength he possesses. She's breathing hard, eyes like a dear in the headlights, a thousand emotions flitting across her face. Slowly her features settle on that cheap, defiant anger that's such a favorite of drunk idiots everywhere.

But that's okay, anger he can deal with. Anger he can fight back. Anything close to the truth… forget it.

"What?" her hands find her hips cattily. "Suddenly you don't want me anymore?"

"Not like this," Damon bites back, voice still husky in his throat, "not when you don't want me at all."

She raises her chin, narrows her eyes.

"You don't get to use me to work out all your problems," he presses, hating how tight his chest is getting, hating the hurt in his tone. "I don't feel like being your great mistake, Elena. I don't want to be the one you use up all the pain on—the one that lets you feel better by feeling so much worse."

She's breaking again, right before his eyes, but he's not going to try and stop it. He just _can't_. If she's going to crash, he won't be the wall she shatters against. He'd just crumble underneath her, and he's already broken himself enough times without her helping him along.

But she's trying, she's trying so damned hard to hold onto this last-ditch effort at ignoring reality, at finding something to prop her up one more hour, one more day, one more week. "_God_, Damon," she tries to scoff, ruins it by the tremor in her voice, "it's not all about you."

"You're right," he agrees, quiet, so quiet. He walks to his car, starts to climb in—she's watching him go, he can see the last bit of steel in her veins forcing her to stay where she is, the bar's sign casting her features in an unearthly blue haze. "It's not about me—it's about Stefan. It's him that you miss," _it's him that I have to bring home_, "it's not me—I'm right here, but I'm not enough for you."

He closes the door as the first tear rolls down her cheek and makes himself drive away, the night closing in from every side until there's nothing to see but darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Nothing like getting what you want in exactly the wrong way, eh? ;) Don't worry, it might not be as bad tomorrow as it seems today. Until I can fill you in with the next chapter, please take a moment to leave a review. They make my day and really keep me motivated to keep going.**


	14. Saw What It Was I Had Done

**Author's Note: **You guys! I am SO sorry for the delay in updating – can you forgive me? What if I throw a pity party garnished with "work has been an absolute bear these past two weeks" and "work even followed me home on the weekend" and "my few spare moments a day are eaten up by exhaustion"? No? Well, then all I can do is offer this chapter as penance – I fear it isn't my best, but I hope it is at least a little worth the wait.**  
><strong>

_****Disclaimer: Alas, the Vampire Diaries could not belong to me less – nor do I intend any infringement upon any musical lyric or established prose that might (overtly or inadvertently) inspire such things as story and chapter titles.****_

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><p><strong><em>Fourteen: Saw What It Was I Had Done<em>**

* * *

><p>"What do you want?" Caroline leans on the door with a surly expression—though she wasn't quick enough to hide the look of surprise at finding him on her stoop.<p>

"Hello to you too, Blondie," Damon raises an eyebrow. "Expecting someone else?"

"No," she mutters, and he notices the glass she's holding by the tips of her fingers. "I dunno… maybe Elena…"

He looks her over, tries not to think of the girl he just left standing in a parking lot. "Share time really seems to have done wonders for both of you," he drawls, noting her smeared makeup, unbrushed hair, old sweatshirt.

"You saw her—Elena?" Caroline is trying not to sound as concerned as she obviously is.

"Drowning her sorrows at the dive bar off Route 12, yea," Damon answers, and he's better at feigning disinterest. But why does she have to keep making him think of _her_?

"And you _left_ her there?" it's the first time he's seen that spark since Lockwood died.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," he leers over the clench in his chest—_he left her there_, "I sent Alaric to get her."

He couldn't just leave her _alone_. Not even after…

Caroline frowns, cocking her head slightly. "What did she say to you?" she asks, almost softly.

Damon's jaw twists in a bitter approximation of a smirk. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but _words_…" he recites in a mocking approximation of the childhood rhyme, "words can never hurt me." Not _just_ words, anyhow…

Caroline considers him a beat before finally stepping back a foot. "Don't think I ever learned that lesson properly," she smiles sadly, raising her half-empty glass. "Want one?" she gestures to the kitchen table and a handle of whiskey.

"I know what'd be better," Damon follows her in.

Caroline shrugs, producing a bloodbag from the fridge and tossing it to him before taking a seat.

He pours the crimson liquid slowly. "And just what did little Miss Gilbert say to _you_?" he asks knowingly after a moment.

Caroline's eyes shoot to him nervously, before returning to her hands. "She said—we _both_ said…" she hesitates, worrying her lip. "Not one of the finest moments of our friendship," she settles at last.

He struggles to find a place in himself that isn't adrift in guilt and pain and the sweet, tortured memory of Elena's lips on his. The blood helps. "Don't tell me I missed a girl fight," he attempts, leaning forward with a lascivious grin. "Were there feather pillows?"

Caroline doesn't even muster the strength to glare at him. "Don't be crass," she manages, icily enough. "Besides, what do you care?"

Damon just hitches a shoulder.

They drink in silence for a few minutes before Caroline seems to remember he hasn't offered any explanation for his late-night arrival on her doorstep. "Why are you here, Damon?" she pulls his half-drained bag of dinner across the table with pale fingers.

He doesn't answer her right away. "Remember when I told you I'd need your help before this was all over?"

Caroline traces the grain of the wood in the tabletop. "Wasn't following the spawn of Satan and his sidekick around central Florida help enough? Wasn't—wasn't Tyler—" her breath hitches and she doesn't try to finish.

He doesn't miss the fresh tears shining in her eyes, but he ignores them. It's the kinder thing to do, really. She's not likely to want him to see this.

"I don't want to see anyone else get hurt," she adds in a whisper.

"What do you think is going to happen the longer we sit around here?" Damon retorts.

"And I'm sorry but I don't want to help you bring Stefan home, either," she continues, blindly determined, "not right now, anyway…"

Damon can't say that he blames her. There's a significant part of him that would prefer to push his brother off a cliff rather than pull him back from the metaphorical one—maybe the fall would actually knock some sense into him. "What about stopping Klaus?" he tries for reason, if not altruism, but knows it isn't his strong-suit. "The big bad Original is _out there_ and I'm tired of running and spying and reacting—I don't care about being practical or biding my time, and I don't know about you, but tonight I'm feeling just suicidal enough to try something _really_ reckless if it just might work."

"What are you going to do?" there's a hint of fear in her features now.

"Are you going to help me?" he counters.

She doesn't reply, just takes another long sip from her glass, and then another, as if her answer is at the bottom—as if she can't decide if she wants a reason to keep going, or a reason to stop. "Can I ask you a question?" she speaks after a moment, her stare drifting out the window.

That should be his cue to go, give this up as a bad idea and take things into his own, lonesome hands like always. "Shoot," he says instead.

"What was it like?" her voice is quiet. "The werewolf bite?"

Damon looks at her askance. "It sucked," he deadpans. "Opt for a stake when it comes to it, trust me."

"But Elena stayed with you—the whole time?" Caroline seems to be choosing her words carefully.

"Yes," he answers. He should have _insisted_ she leave—it would've been so much easier if she'd just _gone_ when he told her to.

But even now, even with the last scared, angry looks fresh in his memory, the thought of what he'd have lost if she'd left tells Damon it would've also left a gaping hole.

"I don't know if anyone'll do that for me…" Caroline runs her thumb along the rim of the glass.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," Damon scoffs. "Elena and Bonnie would be at your side in a second, not to mention your mom, Donovan even… You wouldn't be alone."

He sees Caroline shrug out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe," she whispers, "but people aren't always where you expect them to be... And besides, they won't be around forever. Who'll stay with me then?"

Her words echo softly in the stillness of the kitchen.

He looks at her seriously, flashes on the image of her at the bottom of Tyler's grave. "You don't have to worry about that."

Which was a stupid thing to say—he's probably the _last_ person she'd want around. He doesn't know why he even said it.

Certainly not because he was there for Rose, who really had lost everyone she cared for. Not because he knows what it's like to be alone, and is starting to remember what it's like not to be. Not because he might actually care.

God, he _is_ turning into his brother.

Caroline is silent for a long time after that, though, so at least he's managed to shut her up.

"Okay," she says at last, setting her tumbler on the table. The shake in her hands sets the ring of crystal skittering across wood vibrating through the air.

"Okay, what?"

"Okay I'll help you," she says, the smallest trace of determination returning to her blue eyes.

He's almost surprised. "Good," he finishes off his own drink, sets it down with a steadier hand despite the disparate thoughts running feverishly through his mind. "Then I think it's time we roused Rip Van Winkle from his little cat nap…"

* * *

><p><em>I am a horrible person<em>.

The certainty of this thought is sinking in deeper and deeper the farther Alaric drives from that waste of a bar, the more cautiously disapproving glances he throws in her direction.

The hotter the downward spiral, the faster it burns. Melts away until there's nothing left but a hollow of remorse and embarrassment.

"You don't have to look at me like that." Petulance was her default defense once upon a time…

"Elena…" Alaric starts hesitantly, "I know it's not my place…"

This seems funny to the piece of Elena's brain this still isn't quite sober. If it's not his place, then whose is it?

Everyone else is gone.

Still, she only leans her forehead against the cool glass of the car window in answer.

"I don't really have any room to judge," he continues self-deprecatingly, "but I thought you were smarter than this."

"Maybe I didn't want to be…" she mumbles. What is the smart choice anyway? Running away? Pretending like she still has a normal life? Giving up on Stefan and whatever monster he's inching towards?

Alaric is silent for a moment, darkened scenery flies by outside the reach of his headlights. Still, Elena recognizes it here and there, can pick out the rush of water over the roar of the engine. The car tilts onto an incline and like a slap on the face, Elena realizes where they are.

_The bridge._

_No. No, no, no._

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she breathes through stifling fingers, doubling forward. Alaric looks at her, concerned, pulling quickly over to the side.

He pulls her out of the car and to the railing just in time.

Elena wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, staring over into the black, churning water. The water that swallowed her life away the last time she acted like a foolish, selfish, devil-may-care teenager. Her skin feels clammy as she tries to take a deep breath, tries not to relive those last few moments with her parents.

Their disappointment, the pain in their eyes… Her behavior, her choices that led them all there—_here_.

And yet the love they still wrapped her in—hard, sometimes, but love unfailing. Trying to pull her back, trying to make her see.

_I see now, I do_…

She sinks down to the ground, fingers wrapped around the rusted bars. She can't do this alone. Not any of it.

But why does she push away the truth, why does she hurt anyone who tries to show it to her?

_Why?_

"Elena?" Alaric places a hand gingerly on her shoulder.

"I'm okay," she lies.

"No you're not," he says gently.

"No I'm not," she admits, barely audible over the sound of the river.

"What happened?" he asks, as though this is the product of one night and not a thousand million things finally pushing her to the brink. "When Damon called, he sounded…" Alaric sighs deeply, rethinking. "I don't know what you two are getting yourselves into," he says guardedly, "but even I have to admit he cares about you…"

Elena closes her eyes against the fresh bout of tears. _Damon_…

Why did she have to say those things to him? Why did she let her mouth just spout out the most cutting things she doesn't even mean—to him, to Caroline?

But _why_—why, why, _why_—did she have to kiss him? Why reward his love—that same hard love—with cruelty? Was that supposed to make it easier?

She knows she can't. He knows it. Because of Stefan. They have to find _Stefan_.

She wasn't thinking, not thinking at all, just trying to make it all go away.

Why does she always do that at his expense? Why _kiss_ him?

And why did something that was supposed to be wrong have to feel so _right_?

"Where is he?" she asks, voice scratchy, still staring into those impenetrable depths below them.

"Damon?" Alaric leans back. "I think he was going back to the warehouses—said he was sick of playing without the upper hand."

Elena feels the last cold tendrils of sobriety take hold of her, a sick dread replacing the nausea in her stomach. "The warehouses? As in Elijah? He's going to revive Elijah?"

She's already back in the car and buckled in when Ric regains the driver's seat. "Take me there," she orders.

"Elena, I'm not so sure—"

She fixes him with a stare that brooks no argument—at least, she hopes. "Please," she says firmly, "I have to talk to him."

* * *

><p>Jeremy knows he opened his eyes, but everything is still clouded. It takes one, brutal moment to remember why.<p>

He can feel Bonnie's hand on his chest; can hear her even, rhythmic breathing; can smell the threat of rain on the night breeze. But he can't see her face, can't see the bedside pencils and sketchpad he's been yearning to escape to all day, can't see the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Can't see, can't see, can't _see_.

Jeremy slips out of the bed, careful not to disturb Bonnie, gingerly makes his way downstairs. He's headed for the kitchen when Vicki appears directly in his path.

"Midnight cravings?" she smiles, and is at his side in a flash. "Tell me what it is you want…" she whispers in his ear, fading as she disappears again.

He swallows, a curious mixture of unease and frustration in the pit of his stomach. Giving up on the kitchen, Jeremy feels his way toward the couch and sinks down on the cushions, head in his hands.

"I know it's difficult, Jeremy," Anna's voice floats softly down, "but you have to embrace what death can show you."

He looks up at her, can see _her_. He almost tells her to leave him alone, but he can't—can't give up her eyes, looking at him with such sympathy.

"Why did you have to go?" he asks quietly.

She tilts her head sadly. "You understand that wasn't really me, Jeremy. Though I know Anna did not want to leave you."

He sighs, leaning back against the sofa cushions. Even if she's not really Anna, she _feels_ like she could be, and right now he's ready to carry the lie he can see over the reality he can't.

She curls her legs up under her, sitting so close he almost thinks he could reach out and touch her. She's staring off into the distance, and he's content to just watch her in the stillness, seeing her.

Jeremy isn't sure how much time passes before Anna turns back to him, almost abruptly. "I won't be far," she whispers a smile, gone from his sight before he can say a word.

"Wait," he cries out futilely. "Stay," he begs the darkness, "stay with me…"

He hears the creak on the stairs too late.

"Who're you talking to?" Bonnie's voice echoes sleepily behind him.

He turns in the direction of her words, doesn't know what to say.

He doesn't have to see Bonnie to know the expression dawning on her features. "You were talking to _them_ weren't you?" her voice is deceptively even.

"Bonnie…" he starts, wishing he could see her, "it's not what you… it's not—"

"It _is_," she cuts him off, a fierceness scratching through the tears beginning to cloud her tone. "You know _I'm_ here, right? I haven't gone anywhere…" she sighs, the fight draining out of her as suddenly as it came. "I know this must be so hard for you," she chokes out, "but I want to help—you just—" she stops, swallows. "You should try to get some sleep, Jeremy," she whispers, "I'll be in Elena's room if you need me…"

"Bonnie, hold on," he rises too late, tries to follow her racing footsteps up the stairs—only manages to crash into the hall table and glance his shoulder off the railing. He makes it as far as the landing before he sinks down against the wall, trying not to hear the muffled sobs above his head.

When he stares off into the gray void he's living in, he hates himself for not quite knowing whose face he'd rather see looking back.

* * *

><p>"<em>Caroline<em>," Alaric chokes as the blond appears in a swirl of golden locks.

"Ric!" she drops him in astonishment as soon as she realizes who she's throttling against the warehouse wall. "Sorry," she apologizes worryingly, "I'm on guard duty—guess I'm a little jumpy."

"Ya think?" Alaric mutters, brushing himself off.

"What're you doing here anyway?" Caroline continues. "I thought you were—" she pauses, seeming to notice Elena over Alaric's shoulder for the first time. "_Elena_."

Elena hadn't been expecting to see Caroline here, and the sight sends a fresh wave of guilt running through her, recalling their last harsh words. It doesn't escape her notice, though, that her friend has shown more vibrancy even in these few moments than she has in the past few days. Still subdued, maybe… more jaded. But there. Elena hadn't realized how much she missed that...

"Caroline," she rips off the bandaid—she can't feel any worse, surely… "what I said before—I never should—never really thought—"

Caroline waves her hand as if swatting away a fly, though her eyes betray the lingering mixture of pain and anger. "We don't need to go back there."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elena finds the supreme irony in _Caroline_ letting this go so easily. Turns out there's _still_ a lot Elena has to learn. "But I need to apologize to you," Elena insists. "Not just for what I said, but for not being the kind of friend you needed me to be. The kind I always thought I was."

Elena feels her throat tighten, but wills the tears not to fall. Caroline's eyes are equally glassy.

The blond sniffs heavily, tries to smile. "We've both been a little preoccupied, yea?"

Elena's returning smile is shaky at best. "I'm so sorry," _for everything_, she thinks.

"Me too," Caroline wraps Elena up in a hug—an embrace she seems to need as much as Elena does. "Damon's inside," she says as they pull apart, before Elena can even ask.

"Thanks," Elena nods, follows an incredibly uncomfortable-looking Alaric through the heavy doors.

And there he is... _Damon_.

If only apologizing to him was likely to be even half as easy as Caroline.

But Elena barely has time to process this thought before the fear that drove her here in the fist place comes rushing back with a vengeance. "Damon!" she calls out, running over to him, poised over Elijah's coffin with the infamous dagger in his hand.

He looks up at her—a thousand emotions running too fast across his features to decipher only one. "Come back for more?" he settles on the familiar leer, though it seems more forced than usual.

Elena ignores the comment, too focused on the blade in his hand. "What are you thinking, doing this by yourself?" she gets within inches of him. "What if you had to use that?" she gestures at the dagger. "It would _kill_ you."

"And this matters so much to you because..?"

"Of course it matters to me," something cracks deep inside her, "how can you even ask that?"

He just looks at her, all defiant incredulity. Of _course_ she knows how he can ask that.

"We need to talk," she says, wrenching the dagger from his hand before he remembers to hold on tight. "Will you..?" she turns back to Alaric.

The teacher takes the hilt warily, peers over the lip of the coffin.

Damon, however, doesn't budge. Just stares down at her, blue eyes as intense as she's ever seen them.

"_Please_," she whispers.

His eyes close for a moment as he sighs, but he follows her over to a corner of the warehouse, leans disinterestedly against a wooden crate.

"Say whatever it is you want to say," he crosses his arms. "But if you'd try to be quick about it… I'm sort of in the middle of something."

Elena sets her shoulders—she is willing to take whatever he wants to throw at her—she knows she deserves it. Just so long as he hears her—as long as he _understands_.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, waits to see how he'll react.

He does seem taken off-guard for a second, but then the facade is back in place. "Of course you are," he mutters. "You think you betrayed your precious, golden, do-no-wrong boyfriend. Well don't worry, he won't find out about any of your drunken indiscretions from me."

It stings, but she doesn't care. "No," she says firmly, "I'm sorry for hurting you like I did. I was upset, but..."

Damon sits up a little straighter. "But what?" he seems like he's almost curious to hear what's at the end of that sentence, but he's too proud to admit it.

"But I treated you like you didn't matter, like I could take you for granted—the good and the bad—like I always do," she manages to say in one breath. It actually feels better to say it out loud.

"Yea, well, I can take it, right?" he smiles bitterly.

History has shown he can—though there's often a little too much collateral damage strewn about behind him. But he always comes back to her in the end, and she always tries to hold him at bay.

"You shouldn't have to," she says quietly.

She almost wishes she could just free him from whatever hold she has over his heart—but she's starting to realize she'd have to break off a part of herself to do it.

And that scares her to death.

"I told you I'd bring Stefan home," he interrupts her thoughts. "That hasn't changed. Let's just focus on that, hmm?"

"This isn't _about_ him," she insists. Damon raises an eyebrow. "Okay, it is, sort of," she runs a hand through her hair, frustrated, "but that's not why I'm here now."

"And why _are_ you here?"

"Because I need you in my life," she answers, feels the truth of it resonate down to her bones. "And it's not because Stefan is gone or because we both need him back, it's because _you_ need to be around. _You_."

She didn't realize how close she'd moved to him in that little speech, but looking up at him now that cool, bright blue fills up her whole world. The feeling of those lips on hers sparks unbidden through her mind.

"Around?" he repeats her choice of words, voice hollow.

Her heart breaks at the chasm between them, even when he's only inches away. She feels the tears finally crest onto her cheeks. She needs him to see her—really, truly see her. See what she's trying to tell him even if she can't say exactly what she wants to hear.

"We used to have an understanding, didn't we?" she whispers. "What happened to that?"

There's a flutter in the muscle at his jaw. "It got complicated," he replies quietly.

The tears come more steadily now, and she wipes at them furiously. He catches her fingers as she brushes her hand across her cheek, pulls them down slowly, replaces them with his own.

"Don't do that," he thumbs the tears away, a sad smile at the corner of his mouth, "wouldn't want to send me over the deep end, would you?"

She looks up at him again, feels herself hiccough a laugh in relief. It might not be the same—too much has happened between them, around them—they know too much now for it to ever be like it was.

She's not even sure she _wants_ the same, but she can't think about that yet. _Not yet..._

"Hey guys..." Alaric's voice breaks into that special little space that's theirs alone. "_Guys_... I think he's waking up..!"

* * *

><p><p>

"You have three seconds to say something productive, or that—" Damon pauses to point at the dagger in Alaric's grip "—can go straight back in as easily as it came out. 'Sorry I screwed you over royally' is also a suitable place to start."

Elijah looks at him weakly, "_blood_," he rasps.

Ric presses the tip of the dagger to the Original's chest, "the vampire said _productive_."

In this moment, Damon is acutely aware of Elena standing next to him—the blood running through her veins a virtual feast to the starving man in the casket. But she's not going anywhere, and Damon can't bring himself to force her away.

He can still smell the salt of her tears on his fingertips, feel his chest constrict with every beat of her heart.

The cynic in him could go on for hours about letting her off the hook, berate him into a corner where he'd never let himself care about her or anyone else again. But he'd seen the truth in her eyes—just for a split second, he'd seen through her like she always used to see through him—and he knew he wasn't the only one who'd felt something when they kissed.

And maybe nothing will happen—maybe nothing ever _can_ happen… goodness knows he's been reciting that mantra often enough lately. But for the first time in a long time they were looking at the same truth, and they knew it. 

Elijah tries to sit up, and Alaric leans back cautiously. Damon manages to position Elena slightly behind him.

"I _am_ sorry," Elijah croaks out. "Now," his eyes widen slightly, "_blood_."

"Caroline," Damon motions for the blond to come forward. She hands him a bloodbag, takes a quick step backward.

Damon holds the lifeline out to their unsecure captive. "Don't overdo it," he smirks.

Elijah takes the bag, drinks it down greedily. "_More_," he insists.

Caroline looks to Damon, but he shakes his head. "Not so fast, buck-o, I think you have to earn it…"

In a flash, Elijah has Alaric's wrist in an iron grip. "Don't mistake my current state for true vulnerability," the Original speaks coolly, "I am still more than a match for a human, at least."

Elena runs forward before Damon can stop her. "You can't blame us for being cautious," she says, placating. "You let Klaus live, helped him get away."

Not for the first time, Damon notes how Elijah's features shift when he sees her. "He said my family was not entirely lost to me," he looks at her, only her, "it does not excuse my disloyalty, I know—but surely you can understand how powerful that draw must be."

"Yea, well, Klaus killed you anyway," Caroline points out. "So maybe it's about time you stopped trusting him over us."

Elijah seems to forcibly pull his eyes from Elena to look at Caroline. "Perhaps you're right," he allows, dropping Alaric's wrist and looking between their small group. "Where is Stefan?"

"Oh, that's rich…" Damon mutters. "I guess Klaus got rid of you before the real fun got started, hmm?"

Elijah's confusion launches them into an abbreviated accounting of all that had been missed. The Original listens patiently enough.

"Visions into Klaus' mind, you say?" he ponders thoughtfully as they finish. "Because of his blood?"

"It's the only common denominator," Alaric answers.

"Interesting…" Elijah murmurs to himself.

"So?" Damon bristles impatiently. "Start talking—there must be something you haven't told us."

Elijah looks back at him. "Not much, I'm afraid—there is always more to the story, of course, but I'm not sure I'm the one to tell it."

"But he's your brother," Caroline argues. "You were his right-hand man—who else but you?"

"Hmmm," Elijah smiles sadly. "His right-hand man… well, not always. And even then, Niklaus played his cards very close to the vest. One survived best with a healthy dose of ignorance."

Damon can feel his frustration mounting. "Well, if you're not going to be helpful, I say it's cold storage for you—"

"Wait," Elijah stops him before Alaric can move the dagger any closer. "I may not have the answers you're looking for, but I believe I know who does."

Damon just can't _wait_ to hear this. "Oh? And who is this font of knowledge?"

Elijah doesn't answer directly, but tries to look around the room. "My family," he begins, "did Klaus bring me to them?"

"Yes," Elena answers, "they're all here."

It's the first time Damon has seen something truly familiar in the ancient vampire's eyes. "May I see them?" he asks quietly.

"Don't think we're going to let you wake up a whole posse of Originals," Damon snorts.

Elijah shakes his head, features somber. "Of course not," he agrees. "Just one should do…"

He clambers out of his own casket, sets his feet unsteadily on the concrete floor. He opens each coffin carefully, reverently—each one he closes seems to cause him physical pain. Elena shoots Damon a worried look.

Even that one glimpse of her eyes is enough to remind Damon that the tension is still there between them—but it's shifted somehow, back towards something more manageable, more livable. Or maybe just more honest. But Damon can't afford to think about that right now.

Finally, Elijah stops at one coffin in particular, reaching forward to brush the hair from a young woman's forehead. "Iri…" he breathes, just above a whisper, before wrenching the dagger free.

Alaric steps forward quickly, holding his free hand outward. "I think I'll take that," raises an eyebrow.

Elijah doesn't even argue, just hands it over, eyes still fixed on the form of what must be his sister.

The air is undeniably charged as they wait, so thick with energy that Elena jumps half a foot when Damon's phone rings.

He answers it impatiently. "_What_?"

"_I'm sorry, did I dial Oscar the Grouch by mistake_?" Katherine's voice purrs over the line. "_And here I thought I was calling Damon Salvatore_."

"Now's not such a good time, Katherine," he mutters, catches Elena and Caroline both turn wide eyes on him simultaneously.

"_No_?" she goes on, undeterred. "_But it's _such_ a good time for me_."

"Is there a point to this call, or are you just bored?"

"_Hardly_," he can hear her eyes roll, "_I found them, Damon_."

"What?" he's paying attention now.

"_Klaus and Stefan, silly_," she chides. "_I'm looking right at them_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I can't thank you all enough for continuing to read – I hope you'll continue (or start – it's never too late to start! ;) ) to leave your thoughts in a review as well.**


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